


Moony and the Dogfather

by secretbeatheroes



Series: Anthology of a World Unseen [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, F/M, Gillbert O'Sullivan, Led Zeppelin - Freeform, Lou Reed - Freeform, M/M, Marauders' Era, Mild Sexual Content, Music, Nick Drake - Freeform, Nico - Freeform, Oh my god I promise it’s not all angst, Parent Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-First War with Voldemort, Queen - Freeform, Racism, References to ABBA, References to David Bowie, Sexual Content, Sibylle Baier, Slow Burn, Terrorism, The Velvet Underground - Freeform, also the Pet Shop Boys once we get to the mid 80s, also!, and I WILL warn you before, and I’ve got feelings, as in, be nicer to my poor son, but it’s not terribly graphic, holy fuck i just had an idea...., i guess i mean it’s not terribly slow for US but it is for remus and sirius, it’s not really dumbledore bashing per se just he’s a complicated character, nina simone, no i’m not tagging the specifics, why is alcoholic harry like in the top three suggestions for the alcohol tag???, yes i KNOW she wasn't published until 2006 but she recorded in the 70s!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-07-17 22:32:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 61,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16105160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretbeatheroes/pseuds/secretbeatheroes
Summary: “Fine,” said Sirius calmly. “We’ll live in the garden.”“What?” said Remus.“What?” said Petunia.Vernon did his best impression of a walrus mixed with a tomato.“You don’t want to raise him,” said Sirius, with the air of describing something to the incredibly dimwitted, “and we sure as hell don’t want you to bloody raise him. But he can’t leave your property; he’s got to call this…” he gestured disdainfully at the living room, “a home until he’s of age. So we’ll live in the back garden.”





	1. Return to Godric's Hallow

James was dead, and that was Sirius’ fault. Peter wasn’t dead, but that was fixable. That was something that Sirius could hold on to. 

It was important to have _something _to do on the frozen rocky hellscape Sirius had the privilege of calling home for the next thirteen lifetimes. “Nice cloak,” Sirius told the dementor who had come to replace his empty tray of gruel with a somewhat less empty tray of gruel. “Fetching,” he continued, teeth chattering violently. The dementor made no comment. The whimpering from the next cell grew to a hoarse scream. _Peter isn’t dead _, Sirius reminded himself, standing unsteadily to gaze through a tiny window at the waning moon. _And that’s fixable. _  
______

_____  
......._

____

Remus Lupin was a good tenant. He didn’t have any pets, didn’t play loud music, didn’t bring in strange women, and he was not the sort of person who’d disturb the neighbours with his monthly agonising screams. It was for this reason that the muffilito charm surrounding his council flat completely obscured the loud stumping of Mad Eye Moody’s wooden leg across the floor. 

“Mad eye,” Remus managed hoarsely from his position on the couch, looking more consumptive and tragic than usual. “Why….” 

“You’re awake,” Mad Eye interrupted. “Good. There’s work to do.” 

Remus tried, and failed, to swallow. “Water,” he said, and Mad Eye handed him a flask from his inside pocket. Remus drank gratefully, focusing all of his energy into pushing himself upright. 

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE” Mad Eye barked, causing Remus to jump and drop the flask. “Could’ve poisoned you, boy, or drugged you or slipped you a love potion. You didn’t even ask the question.” Remus smiled wanly, and then he remembered. 

“What’s my dearest dream?” he said, flatly.

“Having a sandwhich to yourself, somewhere safe from Sirius Black,” Mad Eye replied. He didn’t appear to notice that Remus’ ex-best-friend and the person who, by all reports, killed Remus’ only other three friends might have been a tender subject. “How many pepper imps can Frank Longbottom fit into his mouth at once?” 

“Fourteen, but he’ll have to go to St. Mungo’s,” said Remus dully. “What work?” 

He was feeling testy, now, the reminder of Sirius and Frank hitting him like a stinging jinx. The fact that November's full moon had only been yesterday did not help. _That time of the month again, eh Moony? _James would have teased, if James had not been murdered. Mad Eye broke his gloomy reverie with a loud, unconvincing cough.__

____

__

“Dumbledore’s orders,” he said shortly. “We’re to search the Potter house for curse residue.” 

Remus stood shakily, and stumbled across the flat to make tea and pull on a thick jumper. It made no sense to him, taking orders now that the war was over and most of the Order dead or… Remus pushed away thoughts of Alice and Frank. 

“Okay,” he said, dropping a bag of Earl Grey into a chipped mug and sitting again, exhausted by the effort. Mad Eye remained standing, his magical eye rolled up into his head where it was likely scanning the neighbourhood for potential suspicious activity. They sat in silence for an uncomfortably long time. 

“So hows—“ Remus began, interrupted by a loud wailing from the kettle. “Sorry,” he yelled over the noise, as he moved to silence it with his wand. “Birthday present from Lily, it was charmed to sing ‘Hey Jude’ but after…” he trailed off and busied himself with pouring in the water and adding a bit of lemon. 

“She was a great witch,” said Mad Eye gruffly, and then shook his shaggy head as though to rid himself of his momentary lapse into grief. “Right,” he said, looking at Remus. “We’ve got things to do. Think you can manage apparition?” 

“I,” Remus hesitated. “No, probably not,” he admitted. Moody nodded. 

“Dumbledore’s set up a temporary floo connection. Illegal, of course, but the Ministry’s too busy to notice these days. Can’t be done here, though,” he said, looking distastefully around the flat. Remus coloured. “Can’t say I blame you for living with muggles, cold day in hell when you’d be found by purebloods here.” 

Remus gave a short nod and bit back the response that the muggle world didn’t have housing discrimination against werewolves. 

“Where are we going, then?” he asked as he put on a thick cloak and spelled it to resemble a passable, if eccentric, muggle garment. Mad Eye opened the door and ushered Remus out into the snow. 

“Elsewhere,” he said shortly, and the two of them set off. They made an odd pair, Remus reflected as they walked, the grizzled war hero stumping along on his wooden leg and the barely twenty-one year old man whose pressed but shabby clothes and hollow eyes gave him all the appearances of a fastidious heroin addict. People on the street pulled their children aside when they passed; so much for blending in. Mad Eye stopped abruptly in between two flats and began to rifle through his many jacket pockets. He pulled out various dark detectors, a set of muggle handcuffs inexplicably covered in pink fur, a heavy silver cross (which he, to Remus’ relief, simply dropped back into his coat rather than attempting to hand it to him), and a feisty bag of ginger snaps. 

“Shit, bugger, and fuck” Remus muttered as the ginger snaps attempted to remove his fingers. “Mad Eye—” 

“Here it is,” interrupted Mad Eye, pulling out the battered piece of parchment. As Remus carefully returned the objects to Mad Eye, he read the proffered parchment. It said, in Dumbledore’s unmistakable script, ‘Tegau Dearborn lives in 12a, The Heights, Frognal, London’.

Remus winced at the name. “Cardoc.” 

“His sister,” replied Moody as they watched the flat bloom up from the concrete between its unsuspecting neighbours. They walked up the stoop and Mad Eye knocked three times. 

A young woman opened the door. She looked like Remus felt, the skin around her eyes greasy and bruised with exhaustion, the line of her mouth tight with pain. “Mad Eye,” she said, “What is my patronus form?” 

“A dove, Tegau,” Mad Eye replied. He looked pleased that she had asked the question without pleasantries, and Remus felt a bit ashamed of himself for forgetting protocol altogether. “What is Dumbledore’s favourite flavour of jam?” 

“Raspberry,” Tegau replied. “You’d better come in.” She stepped back, ushering them into the hall. The flat wasn’t just tidy, but had the antiseptic sterility of a place scrubbed by grief. The curtains were all drawn, and the only warmth in the room came from an incongruously cheery fire. 

“I knew your brother,” said Remus awkwardly as they followed Tegau through to the sitting room. “Si— James practically worshipped the ground he stood on.”  
Tegau smiled thinly. “Mum always said he’d make head auror by the time I was out of Hogwarts,” she said. “That was before of course.” 

Remus winced. “He was brilliant,” he agreed, “and sorely missed.” 

“Yes,” she replied. “Here’s the floo.” 

He and Mad Eye both took handfuls and stepped into the green flames, Remus guilty at his relief as they left. “I never know whether or not to mention them,” he said uncomfortably as he stepped out of the fireplace behind Mad Eye. “The people who died.” 

Mad Eye merely quirked a grizzled half-eyebrow, as if to say ‘you’re asking me for social advice?’. Remus almost chuckled before he remembered where they were. 

The living room of the Potter’s cottage in Godric’s Hollow looked almost exactly as it had the last time Remus had come for tea in early September. The sofa was covered in cat hair, the toys scattered by the fire place still moved and squeaked with charms that hadn’t worn off yet. Were it not for the horrible silence and a thin coat of dust, Remus could almost imagine Lily coming in with biscuits, James running down the stairs to greet him. 

_“Moony old boy,” James would say, filching a biscuit and throwing himself at Remus for one of the crushing hugs that he and Sirius never seemed to outgrow, “bet you missed your deerest Prongs this month, how’s the secret mission? Does our garden look alright? Wouldn’t know, Dumbledore would hex me to next Wednesday if I so much as stuck an antler outside the window.”_

____

____

_“Idiot,” Lily would say affectionately, “you spent yesterday de-gnoming the garden.” Her eyes would narrow at his guilty face. “You DID de-gnome the garden, James?” ___

____

____

And then she’d send James up to get Harry and she and Remus would chat about the latest ‘Transfiguration Today’ and—

“Remus,” said Mad Eye, breaking the fantasy, “work.” 

“Right,” Remus replied, breathing in slowly and willing himself to ignore the burning behind his eyes. “Right, yes. It happened—“ 

“Upstairs.” 

Remus nodded and made his way slowly towards the hallway. A smiling photograph of Lily and Mary MacDonald waved their diplomas at him at the first step; then there was a stationary photograph of the Evenses, Lily looking radiant and her sister smiling in a pinched sort of way. When Remus reached the picture of Euphemia and Fleamont with James, he smiled out of habit at the smudgy thumb waggling in the corner. 

That was how it was these days, moments of levity that ended in grief and shame. He turned away from the picture but he could still picture the photo exactly, its familiar flaw. James was a perfect mix of them both, skinny, knobby old Fleamont’s easy grin and terrible vision, Euphemia’s wild black hair. When they’d taken Sirius to Devonshire with them the summer he’d been disowned, his pale skin and aristocratic posture stuck out like a sore thumb. He’d always joked that that was his proper place in the family photo, a ‘sticking-out-thumb’. Remus wondered if he had actually done it on purpose. Now he’d probably never know. 

“Remus,” Mad Eye grunted, but Remus was frozen on the step. 

“It doesn’t make sense,” he said softly, not trusting his voice to be steady at a louder tone. “They were the only family he had.”

And so were you, said something horrible and mean in the back of his head. 

“I always liked him,” said Mad Eye, gruffly. “Just goes to show that you should have—“

“Constant vigilance,” Remus supplied grimly. He continued up the stairs, purposefully ignoring the photograph of the marauders on their graduation day, Sirius and James roaring with laughter at the wedding, a black haired baby zooming around on a tiny broom. 

There wasn’t much to do, really, once they made it to what was left of the top floor. Half of roof and a good chunk of wall were gone. Harry’s crib was intact, and the wall behind it; the door and its frame had been obliterated with the wall beside them. Scorches licked across the remaining structure in a fan, looking as though they had radiated from the blast. Remus placed his wand to his temple, pulled, and bottled the memory while it was fresh. He saw Mad Eye doing the same after he closely examined the crib. 

There was a place on the floor devoid of scorch marks, a large empty spot that indicated there had been something there to take the blast that had since remove. With a wave of horror, Remus realised it must have been where Lily had fallen; then he knew in a dull, numb kind of way that he must have passed the place where James had died without knowing it. He wanted to vomit, or cry, or crumple. He wanted Sirius to be there, to be angry so that he didn’t have to be angry, or for Pete to be there to make an ill timed joke and turn all the anger away from the spot where Lily had died. 

But Sirius was gone, and Peter dead, and there was no one left to comfort or hold together for. Almost without noticing the actions of his own body, Remus sat heavily on the floor.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” said Mad Eye, stumping over and patting him awkwardly. “It’s a lot to take in.” He handed Remus a grubby handkerchief and Remus blew his nose in a loud, mournful trumpet. 

_All aboard the great honking ship Honknose _Sirius would have said, if Sirius was not in Azkaban for murdering Peter and twelve innocent muggles. Remus scuffed the toe of his shoe against the dusty floor and tried to breathe. His lungs felt like muggle plastic wrap, clinging and frail. It was too much for him; the first maurauderless full moon since Hallowe'en, Sirius’ thumb, the patch of floor that had been protected by Lily’s lifeless body. Still, carry on and all that. Remus pushed himself up to stand and, with a wave of nausea and a clammy, numbing chill, everything went dark.__


	2. Questions and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean Dumbledore left Sirius to rot in Azkaban? Twelve years you say? That doesn't seem right.

The Potters, Old Fleamont and Euphemia flanking the euphoric James and Lily, raised their wands in synchrony and melted the chairs tables and chairs under the gazebo into a smooth, hard wood dance floor. The guests applauded, Sirius desperately waggling his eyebrows at James for attention. 

“Sorry Pads,” Remus said as joy and gigglewater bubbled up pleasantly inside of his chest, “but you’ve now officially got to share.” 

“You and Lily planned this,” Sirius replied, accusingly, “to have me and James for yourselves.” 

“I am a dark creature,” Remus said, as though Sirius equating their relationship to that of the newly married couple didn’t send thrills of confused longing down his spine, “and this is my dark plan.” Before Sirius could reply, Lily’s voice rang out across the floor. 

“If my Dad could have been here, he’d probably have been too distracted by the magic to have made a proper speech,” she began. Her dark red hair was growing long again and she had left it loose and curled around her shoulders. The muggle wedding gown had been a very Lily choice— high necked and gauzy, with a simple, natural waist and wide sleeves cinching at the wrist.

“She looks like an angel,” Peter whispered loudly, and Remus shushed him. It seemed as though Peter had been drunk since James’ “stag night” a week ago, but there was a war on and Remus decided there wasn’t any need to bring it up. 

“…. so it falls on me to say what I know he would have said, which is that both James and I look lovely in our dresses.” There was scattered laughter from the muggle-born crowd and some confused muttering among James’ older relations. Lily continued, pausing only to wink at Remus, who shared her amusement over formal robes. “Of course if someone had told me in fifth year I’d marry James Arrogant-Toerag Potter I’d have told them that divination is a bollocks subject and to take muggle studies instead.” 

This time the laughter was shared among the crowd, and Marlene McKinnon called out, “viva la elkictricity!”

“Then again, there’s an awful lot happening today I wouldn’t have thought possible when I was sixteen. I wouldn’t have expected to be a soldier by now, let alone a wife,” she said. James took her hand and kissed it, his eyes trained on her solemn face.

“But I’m a muggleborn,” she went on, to a smattering of cheers, “and proudly so. From the day I turned eleven, I stopped expecting to know what kind of world I would wake up in each morning.” She turned to James, hiccuping slightly. “But now, whatever world I awake to, I vow to awake to it with you by my side for the rest of my life.” 

James, whose brown eyes were obscured by the fog of tears behind his glasses, got up and wiped his eyes on the hem of his sleeve. He coughed slightly, clapping her on the shoulder “Well, Evans— or should I say Potter 2.0— if anyone had told you in fifth year we’d be getting married it would have been me and you would have hexed me and my quidditch coaching career would have ended just as it took off.” 

“WOULD HAVE BEEN A BLOODY FANTASTIC CHANGE FOR US” Sirius yelled, his hands cupped around his mouth, “MISTER FOUR AM DRILLS” 

“YOU LOVE ME,” James yelled back, and Remus tugged Sirius back into his chair. James ruffled his hair up at the back, to Lily’s exaggerated chagrin, and began again. “But I did, in fact, decide to marry Lily Evans in our third year, when my dear friend and compatriot Remus Lupin introduced me to an excellent piece of music…” 

“Nope,” Remus muttered, “no.” 

“It of course, reminds Lily and any other Gryffindor around that glorious year 1973 of one of the finest Marauder pranks of all time during which myself and my associates…” Lily elbowed him and he grinned apologetically, “right, love, sorry. The point is that for our first dance as Mr. and Mrs. Lily Evans, we would like to turn back to the clock to those dewey school days long past.” 

“YOU’RE BLOODY NINETEEN,” yelled a very inebriated Frank Longbottom. James flapped his hand dismissively. 

“Lily Potter,” said James, grinning at a very pink Lily, “there’ll be no strings to bind your hands” 

“Not if my love can't bind your heart,” she replied, giggling. Sirius rose and flicked his wand, issuing a stream of trumpets, and the newlyweds spun out onto the dance floor joined by a stream of school-mates and order-members. Even Remus had danced that night, his arm around Sirius’ shoulders and his chest aching with laughter and joy and only the tiniest apprehension that this was as good as his life was ever going to get.

……

When Remus Lupin opened his eyes, his automatic reaction was to check the chair beside the bed for either James, playing around with his stupid little snitch, Lily, with his missed homework, Peter, with candy, or Sirius doing something stupid. The scene was just so familiar— the bed in the hospital wing he had, over the years, come to know as _his _, the familiar smell of Madame Pomfrey’s salves and the tang of powdered silver— that, for a moment, he was a student again, waking on the morning after a full moon to whichever friend had taken watch for that hour. It was as though the past five years had been a nasty dream.__

____

But of course, they had not. Lily and James and Peter were dead, Sirius was gone, and the war was over and not in its infancy as it had been for all those years when they were in school. Poppy, bless her, came in before he had enough time to spiral back into despair. Her usually brisk demeanour fell when she saw him sitting up, and she immediately rushed over to scold him for over stressing himself so soon after a full. 

“….and if I’ve told Cornelius once, I’ve told him a thousand times since it was approved last year,” she fussed, checking the bandages on his shoulder and hip, “it is inhuman for the Ministry not to provide Wolfsbane to those who check into the ministry for the full at the very least.” 

“The point, Poppy,” said Remus tiredly, “is that werewolves are inhuman.” Madame Pomfrey didn’t even flinch. 

“Rubbish,” she replied shortly. Remus felt a surge of gratitude for her overwhelming britishness.

As the two of them settled down for tea in Madame Pomfrey’s office— Poppy, dear, call me Poppy, she was saying— Albus Dumbledore walked into the hospital wing. 

“My dear Remus,” he said, smiling, and Remus felt a swell of guilt. The mission… 

“Albus,” Remus said uncomfortably, having never really gotten used to calling the Headmaster by his first name, “I…”

Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. “don’t apologise,” he said kindly, “I knew it would be a stress, especially given the timing. I do apologise; however, the trial is next week.” 

Remus felt a wave of nausea and willed himself not to retch. “Sirius…” 

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “Do you believe he is guilty?” 

Remus stared into his milky tea. “Oh,” he said, not trusting himself to look up. “Oh. I, I. I can’t see how he isn’t, what with..” 

“Albus, please,” interrupted Madame Pomfrey, glaring at him, “he’s hardly in a state…” 

“It’s okay,” said Remus softly. Dumbledore was looking at him, his piercing eyes inscrutable as ever. “I, um, bugger. Sorry. I can’t see him being a death eater, not after, not to, but he was the secret keeper wasn’t he?” 

“That is the question, isn’t it,” Dumbledore replied. “Might I bother you for a cup of tea, Poppy?” 

Madame Pomfrey, who looked very bothered indeed, stood and nodded stiffly. As soon as she left the room, Remus heard the unmistakable buzz of a muffling charm. 

“The question?” asked Remus, not comprehending. “But, sir— Albus— you cast the charm yourself.” 

“Lovely word, Fidelius,” said Dumbledore mildly. “You’ll know, of course, the Latin. Fidelity. Loyalty. It hinges on trust and can’t be cast by just anyone. Lily was an excellent witch.” 

“Lily?” Remus said stupidly.

“The caster must choose the secret-keeper,” Dumbledore continued. “I offered myself, of course, and laid the framework. The final part, however, was done by Lily. I have reason to believe that she did not choose Sirius as she and James had said she would.” Remus could only look at him numbly. It was too much to hope for. 

“Whom?” he croaked, and was ashamed to find that he was afraid that it was he whom Dumbledore was implicating, he whom Dumbledore believed had betrayed his friends. 

“I can’t know, of course,” Dumbledore continued, “but it couldn’t have been you because I warned that the charm would not work when connected to..” 

“Non-humans,” said Remus hollowly, ashamed of his relief. Dumbledore smiled apologetically at him over his half-moon spectacles. 

“Not the term I would have used,” he said, "but the gist." 

“So whom?" he said, nervously. It had taken him weeks to convince itself it was Sirius; now, he couldn't imagine anyone else. 

“I am not sure,” Dumbledore replied, as though Remus had asked about the day of the month or something equally innocuous, “but I have my guesses.” 

Remus shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “And?”

“And I’d rather like to know if our theories are similar,” said Dumbledore maddeningly. 

The two sat in silence as Remus wracked his brain for someone else they could have used. If not him and not Sirius then Peter, but it couldn’t have been Peter. 

“Marlene?” he said dubiously, trying to remember Lily’s friends, “Amelia?” but Marlene had died before the Potters and Amelia Bones had never approved of James. “No,” he said, before Dumbledore could make the same observations, “couldn’t have been them. It..” he paused, guilty for even considering it. “Peter… they wouldn’t have… he wouldn’t.” Dumbledore said nothing, and Remus forced himself to take a deep breath. 

“It would have to be Peter,” he said. _Traitor, traitor, _said a nasty voice in his head, _blaming a dead friend because you didn’t love him as much as you loved Sirius Goddamn Black _.____

_____ _

_____ _

“I rather thought so too,” said Dumbledore quietly. Remus’ head snapped up and he stared at the Headmaster, shocked. 

“But,” he said, helplessly, “he was bollocks… er, sorry… at occlumency, and barely anyone thought he was really an Order member…” he trailed off. Lily would have thought the same. “Of course,” he said, softly. “No one would think Peter could be the secret keeper… or a spy, at that.”

“Precisely,” said Dumbledore. Remus furrowed his brow. 

“But they found his body, didn’t they?” Remus asked. He remembered the soft way Frank Longbottom had told him about the death, the betrayal. Just days before Frank and Alice had…

“Have you been reading the Prophet?” asked Dumbledore, and Remus was even more confused than before. 

“No,” he said, “I haven’t, I didn’t want,” 

“They found his finger, Remus,” said Dumbledore mildly. “Only a finger.” 

Remus felt another wave of nausea ripple through him. “So you think….” 

“I do,” said Dumbledore. “But I’m afraid that’s not much in the way of proof.” Remus stared at him. 

“But,” he said, “if Sirius is innocent we have to get him out! Oh God, he’s been in Azkaban for weeks, we can’t let him stay, you have to tell the Wizengoamot—“

“I’m afraid,” said Dumbledore, cutting him short, “and forgive me the interruption, Remus, but our time is short, and all that I know is that he was the intended secret-keeper of a charm I cast. I am not much in the way of a witness in Sirius’ favour.” 

Remus froze. “You couldn’t… you’d testify…” 

“As you know, Remus, I would rather not testify against an innocent man,” said Dumbledore, “but all the evidence points to Sirius.” 

Remus forced himself to breathe slowly. All he could think was that Sirius was in Azkaban with dementors hordes of Death Eaters and the worst of his family members and that he, Remus, had left him there. 

“Oh god,” he said. “Oh buggering Christ.” 

Albus smiled at him. “My thoughts exactly,” he said. Remus swallowed thickly. 

“That’s why you sent me and Mad Eye,” he said, “you want us…”

“To help his case,” said Dumbledore, “in ways that a Head Warlock of the Wizengoamot could not.” 

Remus shook his head. “But you have power,” he said, desperately. Dumbledore almost imperceptibly stiffened at this. “I mean, surely you can…” 

“I’m afraid,” said Dumbledore gingerly, “that I have used a rather large amount of clout for the prevention of the incarceration of Severus Snape.” 

That was quite possibly the last thing Remus Lupin had expected to hear. “Snape?” he said, weakly. 

“Yes. Severus,” said Dumbledore. Nothing made sense anymore. Remus pushed that aside. 

“Okay,” he said, “okay, fine. Can’t we ask for veritaserum?” As soon as he said it, Remus knew the answer. Sirius knew too much about the Order, for one, and too much about Dumbledore allowing Remus to go to Hogwarts, AND he was an unregistered animagus. 

“I’m afraid Sirius is almost certainly immune to the effects of veritaserum,” said Dumbledore, “as I believe is the case for nearly all children and adults of the House of Black. 

Remus had forgotten about that; Sirius had boasted about it, once, when Snape had threatened them with veritaserum in the weeks before The Prank. He had offered to taste all of Remus’ puddings for him, lest Snape try to trick him into admitting that he was a werewolf. Remus, knowing that the offer had more to do with Sirius’ fondness for pudding than true concern, had refused. It was only later, after the horrible summer of the disinheritance, that Remus had known _why _Sirius was immune— that as a child, Sirius’ mother had built up his immunity by randomly slipping him veritaserum and interrogating him until he had, by the age of thirteen, been able to lie. It was a tradition, apparently.__

____

____

“Yes,” said Remus, shutting away thoughts of Walburga Black. “Pensieve?” That was evidently the correct answer, by Dumbledore’s satisfied smile.  
“I believe that would exonerate him, yes,” said Dumbledore, “but given the time and energy required for the verification and viewing of the memory as well as the rarity of skilled enough legimens, the Wizengoamot is unlikely to approve such evidence in these chaotic times. Even without Mr. Crouch they are still, shall we say, eager to have this sorted out as soon as possible.” 

“Want the public to stop blaming the Ministry, more like,” muttered Remus. He had heard about Crouch’s son; he remembered him from Hogwarts, a creepy and petulant boy. What he had done to Frank and Alice…. Remus clenched his fist. 

“In order to have a proper trial we would need to present a compelling case for procuring the memory,” said Dumbledore, ignoring his comment “and for that it would be helpful to suggest that by further investigating Sirius’ innocence we would find the true guilty party. No one, especially not the Ministry, wishes for any more Death Eaters to be walking free.” 

“Unless they have the money,” Remus replied darkly, thinking of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy née Black. 

“Regardless,” said Dumbledore, “As Head Warlock I cannot actively aid your research. However, you and Alastor will be compensated for your reconnaissance for the order— for which you will be answering to Minerva as I must know as little as possible.” 

Remus stood, suddenly desperate to begin. “Would it… would it be possible for me to visit Sirius?” he asked. Dumbledore smiled.  
“I think I could arrange something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JOKES I posted today real talk guys I have a lot of work to do and I'm doing this instead. Who's ready to chat with Sirius?
> 
> The song referenced at the Wedding is 'Angel of the Morning'. The prank will be added to the series in "prank diaries" which will be up by next week :)


	3. The Prisoner of Azkaban

He left his wand at the door, tucking the receipt handed to him by a peaky, tired looking little wizard into the pocket of his cloak. Mad-Eye retained his own wand; the gatekeeper didn’t even try to take it from him.

“Your portkey’ll activate in abou’ two minutes,” he had wheezed, handing them a broken quill. As they stood waiting, Remus felt his nerve breaking down. 

“Mad-Eye, are you sure…” 

“Lupin if you ask me one more time whether or not you should come along I will personally ensure you get an adjoining cell.” 

They waited in the gloomy hall for what seemed like a century. Mad-Eye began to absently hum what sounded suspiciously like ‘Odo the Hero’, and Remus attempted to sort through his roiling thoughts. 

_Right, _he told himself firmly, _you can’t lose your head and tell him, you’ve got to be firm, can’t let him think you’ll believe just any story of his innocence… _____

_____ _

_But what if he thinks it was me? _Remus thought, suddenly alarmed again. _Or what if we’re wrong and I see him and I can’t even tell if he’s lying? _____

_____ _

_____ _

“Shit,” said Remus urgently, “Mad-Eye maybe I shouldn’t—“ 

And then the portkey glowed blue in his hand, there was a sharp tug at his navel, and Remus was falling, falling, falling towards Azkaban.  
…  
Sirius was no longer sure just how long he’d been in Azkaban. The weather around his charming little beachfront prison varied very little from day to night. Or he had only been there one day, and not the month or so he estimated— now THAT was a depressing thought. He kicked at the wall. Next door, the Crouch kid began to cry for his mother. 

“Merlin’s saggy left testicle,” Sirius growled, “would you _shut _it.”__

____

____

“Not a very nice way to treat your fellow death eater,” said a gruff voice from outside the bars. Sirius froze, barely daring to hope. 

“Mum?” he asked, turning to face the speaker. Mad-Eye Moody’s grizzled face stared down at him through the gloom, a mix of pity and something else Sirius couldn’t quite place.” 

“Black, for the last time, I am not your mother,” said Mad Eye Moody. Sirius could have kissed him. 

“Nah, you’re much prettier,” he said, hoarsely, hope swelling in his chest like an anxious balloon. “It was Peter, Mad-Eye, Peter did it, I don’t know why but Peter did it, there was a traitor, we thought we were being clever, should have listened to Dumbledore, but it wasn’t me, Mad-Eye, I swear it wasn’t me,” he babbled, “but it’s my fault anyway it’s my fault James is… James and Lily… fuck..”

“Slow down,” said Moody, “what do you mean it was Pettigrew.” 

Sirius shook his head, breathing hard. He couldn’t think, couldn’t explain, it was too cold, it was too horrible.

“Here,” said someone roughly from outside Sirius’ range of sight. A hand tossed a thick bar of Honeydukes chocolate through the bars. As he ripped it open, he caught a glimpse of sandy hair and a face marred by three familiar ropey scars. He dropped the chocolate. 

“Moony,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Moony you’ve come for me.”

“Not quite,” said Remus quietly. “I’m here for the truth.” 

He had that look on his face, the one he’d had for weeks after Snape found out in fifth year, the look of someone who couldn’t believe they’d been betrayed. Sirius felt a swell of anger begin to crowd out his joy. Surely Remus couldn’t think he could’ve killed… but he had. He picked up the chocolate and took a bite, struggling to swallow past the guilt and grief crowding his throat. 

But he managed, and almost immediately the touch of warmth in his mouth and then in his stomach allowed him to gather together his torn and twisted thoughts. “It was Peter,” he said hollowly. “Peter was the real secret keeper.” 

He had said the right thing, by the looks Remus and Mad-Eye were exchanging. Sirius took another bite of chocolate and continued. 

“We knew there was a traitor, but it was more than that. James,” his voice broke, and he felt his eyes burn, too dehydrated for tears. “James wanted me. Dumbledore offered but James was never completely sure of Dumbledore, not like you and me,” he said, to Remus. Remus was meeting his gaze now, and a thrill of hope shivered like a knife in Sirius’ stomach. “And anyway, You-Know-Who would think it was him. So then he picked me; he knew I’d rather die than… than… you know.” He swallowed hard. 

“I know, Sirius,” Remus said, his voice low and crackly. Mad Eye gave him an inscrutable look. 

“But everyone knows— knew— that James and I are— were— are…” 

“Brothers,” finished Remus. 

“Lupin,” Mad Eye warned, and Remus nodded tightly. 

“Brothers,” Sirius echoed hollowly, “So they’d come for me, first, and you know I’m shit at occlumancy, so I… I suggested. Fuck, it’s my fault, fuck,” he said, slumping back against the wall. “It’s still my fault. I thought… rat bastard… fuck, I thought, they’d never come after Peter fucking Pettigrew.”

Remus’ jaw was twitching; Sirius could see the wolf behind his eyes, that wild anger. The full must have just passed, he guessed, and he felt a pang of guilt for not being there. 

“Moony,” he said, reaching out a hand. “Moony please believe me. It’s my fault, I know, you don’t have to forgive me, I’ll NEVER,” 

“Shut it, Black,” said Mad Eye shortly. He began to pace, stumping back and forth in front of the cell. “Bugger. We should have known. How didn’t we know?” 

“I went after him,” said Sirius angrily. “I should have gone to Dumbledore but James was…. and Lily…. I couldn’t, he couldn’t get away with it.” 

“He won’t,” said Remus, something dark and ugly in his voice. Sirius felt his heart crawl up his throat. 

“You believe me,” he said. 

“Yes,” said Remus, “Dumbledore told us he knew it couldn’t have been you, Lily was never good at lying—” 

“He’ll testify,” Sirius interrupted. 

Remus seemed to tense. “Yes,” he said finally. He sat, taking Sirius’ proffered hand, and Sirius clung to him through the bars. 

“Tell me about it,” Remus said. It wasn’t a request. Sirius closed his eyes and swallowed hard, folding back everything he wanted to say and trying to start from the beginning, from before Remus left. Harry’s first christmas was when it got bad. That’s when they decided to pick the secret keeper. 

“Pete was so excited when we told him,” he began, remembering the look on Wormtail’s face. “He’d been looking gloomy for ages but who hadn’t. I thought he was just proud to be chosen, to be James’ spare best friend,” Sirius laughed hollowly. “Sad bastard that Peter Pettigrew. Always thrilled to come second place.” Remus cringed.

“Funny, isn't it,” said Sirius, noting Remus’ discomfort. “The instinct to come to his defence even though he’s the one who killed— who killed James. Fuck. Like it’s still third year and we’re putting bubotuber pus in Lucius Malfoy’s spot creme for calling Pete a squib.” 

“The only reason I believe it was Peter,” Remus admitted, “was because it couldn’t have been you. It couldn’t.” 

“No,” said Sirius murderously, “it couldn’t. But because I’m a Black—“ 

“Hey now,” protested Remus, “you thought it could have been me because I’m a werewolf!” It was Sirius’ turn to flinch. 

“It’s not that we thought you _chose _to be the traitor, Moony,” Sirius said, shifting uncomfortably. “Only none of us had seen you in weeks; you were the only one doing solo missions, the only one living with death eaters and dar— others on their side,” he finished lamely.__

____

____

The unspoken _dark creatures _hovered between them for a painful moment before Remus squeezed his hand, urging him on.__

____

____

“I didn’t want to believe it,” he continued, “only, you could be imperiused or…” he couldn’t bring himself to look Remus in the eyes.  
“Or convinced,” Remus finished. “Sirius, when I told you about what Greyback was offering…” 

“I didn’t think you’d accept,” said Sirius, “but Dumbledore couldn’t offer you anything in the ministry and it hasn’t been the same since you had to register and…” 

“And You-Know-Who offered so much to people like me,” said Remus quietly. Sirius glared at him. 

“You’re not like that,” he said, and Remus offered a worn smile at the old argument . 

“As much as I hate to break up this cozy little party,” said Mad Eye shortly, “we’re cutting it fine. The porkey’ll take us back in a minute, and there’s logistics to discuss.” 

“Right,” said Remus, gazing fixedly slightly above Sirius’ left shoulder, seemingly unwilling to look him in the eyes. “So, Dumbledore set up the charm, right?” 

“Most of it,” said Sirius automatically. “but he left the last bit to Lily, you know she had a knack for charms.” 

“So she bounded it to Peter instead of you.” 

“Yes.” 

“But why?” said Mad Eye, “if Dumbledore thought he knew who the secret keeper was?” 

Sirius stared at his wasted hands, uncomfortably. “James asked him.” 

“Why,” pressed Mad Eye. Sirius felt awkward, exposed. Like speaking ill of the dead, he thought, bitterly. 

“Because James didn’t trust Dumbledore,” he bit out, “not completely. Not like we did. Loved him like mad of course, he practically signed up for the Order when we were thirteen but, you know James.” 

“He was always worrying about the methods,” said Remus softly. “Not enough delegation, too much secrecy.” 

“He thought,” Sirius continued, “that if it came down to ending the war or saving them, Dumbledore would end the war.” Mad Eye hummed, his grotesque face twisted into an almost thoughtful expression. 

“Constant vigilance,” he said, appreciatively. Sirius shrugged. 

“Yeah, so, anyway,” he continued, not looking at Remus, “they picked Peter. I was the only one who knew. We grilled him in occulmency night and day, I was planning to leave the country so the death eaters’d follow me and throw them off but…” 

“You were leaving the country?” Remus interrupted. Sirius cringed, attempting to run a hand through his dirty, knotted hair. 

“I….” he said, awkwardly. 

“Were you going to tell me?” asked Remus, and he was angry now and hurt and more beautiful than Sirius could have possibly remembered here with every good thing sucked out of him.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course.” 

“But I wouldn’t be with you,” said Remus.

“No,” Sirius replied, evenly. “But we’re all we’ve got now and…”

“And what?” asked Remus. There was a hardness in his voice that Sirius didn’t recognise or like. 

“You…” he began, terror beginning to claw at him again in the cold, horrible cell. “You’ll be there, you’ll have me when I get out, I can’t… I can’t NOT have anyone, James, oh god,” Remus squeezed his hand 

“Sirius,” he said, almost harshly, and Sirius realised that he had been shouting. “Sad,” Remus continued, “Lazy dog, you’d rather die in prison than find your own flat.” 

Sirius pulled himself together at that. Humour. Familiar. A good sign. “What can I say?” he replied, “I’ve gotten used to the around the clock care here.” Remus snorted. 

A light flashed in the corner of Sirius’ vision, and Mad Eye let out a growl of frustration. “Time to go, Lupin.”

“I’ll be back,” Remus said automatically as Sirius’ face went dark. Mad Eye grunted. 

“No you won’t, not until the trial. Won’t help, no use looking at me like that Lupin,” said Mad Eye. Sirius knew he was right, but the thought of spending another week in Azkaban made him feel sick. Remus didn’t look any more excited at the prospect, though, Sirius thought jealously, he didn’t have to live on rats with death eaters for company. 

There was a perverse pleasure in eating rats, though. He imagined each and every one was Peter. Sirius grinned savagely at the thought, and Remus shot him a worried glance. 

“Sirius—“ he began, but Sirius cut him off. 

“Don’t mind me,” he said, forcing his voice to sound casual. “I’ve come to rather like it here. Would’ve asked you to bugger off earlier if I didn’t have such impeccable pureblood manners.” 

Mad Eye’s eye rolled unpleasantly back into his head and, not for the first time, Sirius wondered if he could see his own brain. 

“Lupin,” Mad Eye said sharply, and Remus reluctantly released Sirius’ hand. The loss of his touch brought back the ache in his chest Sirius had almost forgotten. 

“I brought you these,” Remus said, taking a pack of cigarettes, a muggle lighter, and two more bars of chocolate from his robes. Sirius did his best to beam, though he could tell from Remus’ face that he had achieved all the gruesome cheeriness of a desiccated corpse. 

“Moony, my fags! Jamie would be ever so…” the word _disappointed _hung in the air between them, and Sirius moved on quickly. “Go on, get,” he said gruffly, shuffling away from the bars, “I have a very busy schedule y’know.”__

____

____

“Take care, Pads,” said Remus softly, and Sirius felt every part of his body stiffen painfully as he watched him leave. 

“Wait!” he yelled, as they reached the end of the hallway, and he heard them stop and turn. “Where’s Harry?” he asked. There was an uncomfortable pause as the portkey began to glow.

“Safe,” said Remus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus doesn't know jack shit about where Harry is, actually, but we'll get to that. Thanks for holding on!! It shouldn't be too long now, just a bit more exposition.


	4. The Marauder's Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, memories. Mentions and descriptions of canon character death

“Er,” said Remus uncomfortably as the two of them walked away from the portkey, “where _is _Harry?”__

____

Mad Eye shrugged. They continued to walk in silence, Remus remembering the last time he had seen James and Lily’s infant son. During the summer of Sirius’ disinheritance the marauders had spent the holidays at the Potter’s summer house trying, in the awkward way of teenaged boys, to heal their respective wounds with water Quidditch in the choppy waters of the Indian Sea. Each night, when they returned to the manor, the four had sat in restless silence at the table as Fleamont Potter prayed in sanskrit. Remus— and, most probably, even James— understood only one word at the end of each prayer: _sānti, sānti, sānti _.__

____

__

It hadn’t had much meaning then, despite the fact the war was on and it showed, from the way the Potters seemed to age a decade each time Remus saw them and the sound of Sirius’ night terrors as he awoke three times each night screaming and babbling as though again under his mother’s cruciatus curse. Peace was a weighty word. Even more poignant to Remus, still hardened from The Prank, was the implication of _sānti, sānti! You must not let anger possess you like that!_

____

____

But things changed, as they were wont to do in adolescence and especially in wartime. Remus thought, unbidden, of the night that Fleamont had died— how they had been awoken by a shout from James, who had taken to sleeping in the chair beside his father’s bed. How Lily had run past him and Sirius who were standing in the doorway in shock as James shook his father as though he had forgotten he was a wizard. _Rennervate! _Lily had said shakily, shoving James out of her way. _RENNERVATE _. She had flung her wand aside, tipping Fleamont's head back and pinching his nose, breathing into his mouth until his chest had puffed up comically and then lacing her hands and pounding them rhythmically into his chest, panting as she counted the beats. _One, two, three, Remus, Call, Poppy, seven, eight, nine, CALL, TEGAU, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, for, fuck’s, sake, go, to, the, village, dial, nine, nine, nine, James, Remus, hurry, please _...______

_____ _

_____ _

Euphemia had stopped her, after what felt like an age. Lily had looked up at her with tear-bright eyes as though Fleamont had been her own father, whom she had buried just weeks before. The funeral, Euphemia’s death, then Benjy Fenwick’s had followed in such short succession that Remus barely remembered the fire whisky haze of grief and responsibility that had followed that evil, horrible month of October. Then Lily’s pregnancy, announced quietly after Benjy’s funeral, had grounded James. Harry’s birth seemed to bring back the long-absent joy in his sad brown eyes. In many ways he was the same as he had been before they left Hogwarts, mischievous and affectionate, boundlessly energetic. But then, when the five of them managed to all sit down at the same dinner table, James would bow his head and say Fleamont’s prayer. _Sānti, sānti, sānti._

____

____

He’d say it to Harry, Lily had confided in him one strained evening in the cottage over tea as James paced upstairs with the crying baby. _Peace, son, you must not let anger possess you like that. _She admitted to adding her own words of comfort that were more for herself than Harry, _be soft, do not let the world make you hard. _She had laughed a little, hollowly, adding _if we survive this, I swear, we’ll be the most hallmark greeting card parents in the whole world _. Remus had even heard Sirius murmuring to Harry in sanskrit when the two of them had the time to take care of the baby so that his young parents could sleep. Remus had begun to wonder if James and Sirius had actually been listening all along those summers, if they had found the message of peace in Fleamont’s words that the darkness inside of him had never allowed him to take in, even at fifteen.______

_____ _

_____ _

Then, of course, there was that horrible Halloween and the funeral in Godric’s Hallow during which everyone but Remus seemed to be celebrating. In those days the idea of Sirius Black, death eater and friend-betrayer, holding the baby whose death he had supposedly tried to organise, seemed like a cruel trick. 

Had he ever really believed that Sirius was the traitor? No, he couldn’t have done. But the days of unconditional trust at Hogwarts had changed after The Prank. He had become harder, angrier. His feelings for Sirius, the old thrill at his touch, the pathetic longing, had become something more volatile. James had noticed, of course. Prince among men, James Potter. He’d only asked him about it once, and even then only when very drunk. 

_You love him, don’t you, _he had said. Remus had looked at him in shock and then thrown a desperate look towards Sirius who, as per usual, had turned into Padfoot before passing out. Peter was curled on top of his shaggy head, both rat and dog snoring quietly.__

____

____

_Yeah, _he had forced himself to say, thinking with some relief that James must have meant to ask if he’d forgiven Sirius, _we all do _. James had shaken his head very slowly.____

_____ _

_____ _

_No not like me and Pete, _he had replied, _like, love love. The love kind. _____

_____ _

_____ _

_It doesn’t matter, _Remus had said by way of confession, surprising even himself. _He loves me the way he can. I don’t mind.___

_____ _

_____ _

He hadn’t convinced James, but James hadn’t pushed. _It’s okay, _he had said. _I can keep a secret. _He had then rolled onto his side and told Remus, conspiratorially, _I’m keeping one for him, too. _______

_____ _

_____ _

Remus hadn’t dared to ask, hadn’t thought to hope. Then Sirius had kissed him, towards the end of seventh year, and Remus had kissed him back and then they’d sort of rubbed each other off and then neither had mentioned it again; it had taken weeks for them to be back to normal, during which Peter had taken to sleeping in the Room of Requirement to avoid the tension. 

Peter. All thoughts of seventeen-year-old Sirius Black and his beautiful mouth were replaced by a sudden, far more urgent flash of understanding.

“Fuck.” he said, loudly, stopping suddenly in the street. Mad Eye stopped as well, looking at him quizzically. 

“Fuck,” he said again, with feeling. “Merlin’s saggy left nut.” 

“Lupin,” growled Mad Eye, “is there a reason that we’re standing and swearing in the street?”

“Yes,” said Remus, “yes, bugger, I’m such a bloody goddamn idiot. Shit. Pants.” 

A woman pushing a stroller glared at him as she passed, but Remus barely noticed. 

“Buggering fuck I never checked,” he said, angrily, “shit.” 

“Lupin,” growled Mad Eye, “explain before someone hexes us in broad daylight. It’s foolish enough to stop at doorsteps in these times let alone—“

“We never checked the castle!” Remus exclaimed, and muggle passersby gave the pair a wide berth. Mad Eye, finally, seemed to understand. 

“It’s a convenient spot to hide,” he said thoughtfully, and Remus almost laughed at how very much of an understatement this was.

“Of course,” Mad Eye continued, “He’d have to find a way past the wards and into the castle itself… tricky, and Pettigrew wasn’t much for stealth or cunning.” 

“Evidently more than we thought,” said Remus bitterly. As they resumed their walk, Remus privately wondered how much trouble he’d be in when he explained about teenage animagi and the tunnel beneath the whomping willow.

……..

A simple _alohamora _was all it took to open the cabinet marked ‘Confiscated And Highly Dangerous’. Poor Filch’s muggle system was utterly useless in a school full of young witches and wizards. Remus sorted carefully through various years of fanged frisbees and dungbombs until he found the filthy piece of parchment that had been the magnum opus of his school career.__

____

____

“Hello, old friend,” he murmured softly, pressing the tip of his wand to the parchment. A familiar scrawl bloomed across the page. 

_Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs wish to most graciously welcome back one of their own, _his seventeen-year-old handwriting informed him. Remus felt grief rise like bile to his throat.__

____

____

_Mr. Padfoot would like to thank the illustrious Mr. Moony for the gracious welcome and inquire as to why in the bloody hell Mr Moony has returned to Hogwarts, the nerd._

____

____

_Mr. Prongs seconds the question though Mr. Padfoot really ought to watch his language, old boy, as one is obviously in the presence of a former prefect._

____

____

_Mr. Moony wishes to remind Mr. Prongs that he, himself, was once Head Boy and thus has no bloody feet to stand on. ___

____

____

_Mr. Wormtail would point out that none of them have any feet, as they are imprints of memory or some other such cleverness that Mr. Wormtail has, regrettably, forgotten. ___

____

____

Remus felt his skin crawl at Peter Pettigrew’s familiar handwriting, so comfortable among that of himself, James, and Sirius. Had Peter Pettigrew known, at the time they’d finished the map, that he would join the death eaters and betray the other three? Had whatever they’d missed about Master Wormtail been lurking under the cheerful incompetence and hero-worship all along? “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he said, coldly. The scribble immediately bloomed into Sirius’ gorgeous, spiky green calligraphy which pronounced: 

_“Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs _  
_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers _  
_are proud to present _  
_THE MARAUDER’S MAP _________

_____ _

_____ _

Remus blushed at his own pretentiousness— ah, youth— as a spidering flow of ink spread and licked across the page to form the castle’s floor plan. “Gryffindor tower,” he said, standing and wincing at the crackling of his knees. The map shifted. He scanned the names: nothing familiar. 

“Show me Peter Pettigrew,” he said. The map shifted again; no Peter. Remus swore. For a moment he gave up on Hogwarts. If Peter was not there they wouldn’t waste more of Sirius’ limited time searching the castle. 

He gave the map another poke, just in case. “Has Peter Pettigrew been at Hogwarts recently,” he asked, knowing full well that such a question was beyond the capacity of the map but hoping nonetheless. Sirius’ spiky calligraphy again made its lazy way across the page. 

_Moony, dear man, _it said, _it is not in the Marauder way to concern oneself with that which has happened or will become. _Remus froze.____

_____ _

_____ _

That had been essentially James and Sirius’ motto at school— _bugger tomorrow for a lark today _or _yesterday’s detention is just time to plan today’s prank. _There was never an awful lot of forethought among the marauders, when it came to consequences.____

_____ _

_____ _

In hindsight that was how Remus had known that it hadn’t really been malicious, when Sirius told Snape how to get through to the Shack. Just a stupid, thoughtless, flippant comment. He hadn’t thought for a minute what it would mean for Remus, that Snape could have died. In the aftermath, James had kicked Sirius out of their room and not let him back until Remus had convinced him that he had really truly forgiven Sirius. As long as he lived, Remus Lupin would never forget the moment James had thrown Sirius’ stuff into the common room. Through the fear, the anger, the pain, James had made him feel safe and protected and completely accepted with that single, definitive act of solidarity. Peter had been angry too, angrier than James or Remus for reasons that the other two never really bothered to understand. When Sirius had moved back in, Peter had taken to sleeping outside of Gryffindor tower in his stead. It took weeks of coaxing to get all of them back in the same room again, especially because they hadn’t really bothered to look for Peter at first. They only began to worry when he stopped showing up on the map. 

The map showed many things; it was clever, even cleverer than the individual boys who had brought it to life. Hogwarts was much older than the map, though, and much more inclined to keep its secrets. The Room of Requirement could be located but not plotted, and its inhabitants were likewise protected. When they’d finally reconciled Peter had shown them the room, so proud to have found it first.

Just because he wasn’t on the map didn’t mean Peter wasn’t at Hogwarts, but it also didn’t mean that he was. Even if he was in the Room of Requirement, catching him as rat would be nearly impossible and with the Room at his disposal, Peter would have everything he needed. 

No, Remus corrected himself. Not quite true. Even a rat needs to eat, and even the Room couldn’t ignore the exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration. Peter would have to leave for food eventually. It was no use trying to break in to get him— they had tried, back in sixth year, when Peter was in one of his sulks. He’d have to wait for the name to appear in the seventh floor corridor beside the mad painting of Barnabas the Barmy and his ballet trolls. 

Then he’d actually have to _catch _Peter. During their last two years at Hogwarts Peter had only been caught twice in rat form: once by Dorcas Meadows (an uncommonly pretty seventh year who had offered Wormtail some toast and, inadvertently, a look up her skirt), once by Filch’s demon kneazle-cat, Mrs. Norris.__

____

____

_A cat _, Remus thought with sudden inspiration. _We need a cat _. He put his head in his hands, sighing heavily. McGonagall was going to skin him alive.____


	5. Rat Catching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WOW this chapter has terrible pacing but it is a bit of a rush job; they really don't have time to waste, what with Sirius' trial upcoming.... and also my exams....  
> Anyway, mentions of canon character death, grief, and some understandable pessimism on the part of Remus 'Consumptive and Tragic' Lupin.

“I thought as much,” said Minerva McGonagall mildly into her tea. Remus felt himself grow cold and then very hot with surprise and embarrassment. 

“I,” he stuttered, “I… how?” 

Minerva McGonagall sighed, opening her familiar tartan biscuit tin and offering him a shortbread. “My dear Remus,” she said, “how many students do you think so persistently pester me for the particulars of an animagery for the purpose of— how did Mr. Potter put it— ‘fun’?” 

Remus grinned, despite himself. “Stupid git,” he said fondly. There was a low, cold sinking in his stomach that happened whenever he thought of James or Lily. McGonagall simply pursed her lips and offered him another biscuit. 

“I, too, know the discomfort of holding a leaf in one’s mouth for an entire month,” she said. “The symptoms are not unfamiliar.” To Remus’ surprise and gratification, McGonagall mimed the pained expression that his three friends had maintained for the first week or two of leaf-holding. 

“I always was curious,” she said, regaining her composure, “what they ended up turning into.” Remus smiled into his cup of tea. 

“James was a stag,” he said, and McGonagall nodded. 

“It generally is the same as the Patronus,” she replied, “and Sirius?” 

“A dirty great Newf” he said, “Black as his name.” That’s how Sirius had described himself, at least. Braggadocios bastard. McGonagall smiled, and then her face grew serious. 

“And Pettigrew?” she asked. Remus shifted uncomfortably, checking the map compulsively. Still no sign. 

“A rat,” he said. McGonagall looked at him sternly. 

“Not the time for jokes, Mr. Lupin,” she said severely, and he blinked at her in confusion. 

“No,” he said, “Pete— I mean, his animegus. It’s a rat.” McGonagall’s lips thinned and she glared at him, clearly exasperated. 

“A rat,” she said, “and you never once wondered?” Oh, thought Remus. 

“We never— I mean, he was willing to do so much for us, for me,” he said weakly. McGonagall looked pained. 

“The height of dishonour, I believe James called it,” said McGonagall, “to mistrust or judge one’s friends.” 

_That was harsh _, Remus thought. But then, it was both trust and mistrust that had gotten them where they were in the end: mistrusting him, putting James and Lily’s lives in the hands of a traitor.__

____

“James was the most honourable bastard I knew,” said Remus, “and look where it’s gotten us.” McGonagall seemed to be scrutinising him, and  
he tried to distract himself by picking at the fraying edges of his robes. 

“Us?” she asked, softly. Remus scrubbed at his eyes with the heal of his hands. 

“Me, then,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “Me. Look where it’s gotten me. No more Voldemort, hurrah for everyone, the war’s won. So I get to go back to muggle subsidised housing working odd jobs and trying to pretend that my only family, my only friends, are dead, imprisoned, or traitors. Good thing a werewolf’s lifespan is so ruddy short so I don’t have to worry about living long with the grief.” 

McGonagall was silent, and Remus couldn’t bear to look at her. God, he was 21, he shouldn’t whinge like a child. He wasn’t the one in Azkaban, he wasn’t dead or tortured to insanity. 

“Remus John Lupin,” said McGonagall in a hard voice, “you will never, _never _, be alone as long as there is breath in my body.” Tears came, then, but he wiped them away, still covering his face. For a moment, the only sound in the room was Remus’ ragged breathing.__

____

“Bugger this for a game of soldiers,” said McGonagall, to Remus’ shock. He was learning an awful lot about Minerva McGonagall today. It did the trick— his urge to cry subsided, and he laughed. “That’s right,” she said, “get up, Mr. Lupin, we have a rat to catch and a dog to fetch.” Remus stood and smiled at her, hesitantly. 

“You’re not mad about the map?” he asked. She looked at it thoughtfully. 

“Furious,” she said. “Deeply unsafe, a gargantuan effort wasted upon immature rule breaking, some of the best magical handiwork I have ever seen in my life performed by four underage children.” She stroked it, smiling slightly. “Brilliant, though,” she added. “Complete genius.” 

Remus blushed. “It was mainly Sirius and James,” he said. McGonagall clicked her tongue in disbelief. 

“I taught you for seven years,” she said, “and worked alongside you for three. I know the imprint of your magic, and this—“ she gestured to the parchment, “is the idea of a clever boy whose fondness for cartography and magical research could only be rivalled by his love for his friends.” Remus felt the bridge of his nose burn again, and changed the subject. 

“It’s got an alarm,” he said, “it’ll go red when Peter appears but someone will have to be watching it, it doesn’t have any noise-making capacity  
and I don’t want to fiddle with it when there’s so much at stake.” 

“Noted,” said McGonagall, “and the plan when he does?” 

“He knows your scent,” Remus continued, “and mine, I can’t risk going near the seventh floor. I think we need to set a trap, something he won’t expect or be able to avoid. Something simple but something that would either keep him from transforming or that would hold him both as a rat and as a man.” 

McGonagall nodded, smiling slightly. “Pomona will have just the thing, I think,” she said. “Devil’s snare?” 

“Perfect,” said Remus, “we’ll have to clear the corridor, of course, but I know the way he’ll go to the kitchens.…” 

As Remus began to draw up a plan, McGonagall stared at the map. “Are you sure he’s here?” she asked. Remus looked up, mouth going dry. 

“I had forgotten about that,” he said. “Damn.”

McGonagall nodded. “I’ll take it from here, Mr. Lupin,” she said. “Albus, Pomona, Filius, and I should be more than capable of intercepting him  
if he attempts to flee the Room of Requirement. You need to rejoin Alastor and explore other avenues.” 

Remus nodded, his mind racing. “I’m not sure where else he would be, Professor.” Mcgonagall steepled her fingers in thought. 

“You knew him better than I did,” she said. “Why Hogwarts?” 

“It’s familiar,” said Remus slowly, “and he knows how to hide here, how to go undetected. There’s always food and,” he paused, “and there’s news. He’ll want to know if Voldemort returns or if there’s some bigger bully he can hide behind later.” 

“And?” McGonagall asked, and Remus felt rather like he had done when she had called him in to discuss careers in his fifth year. Like she was  
prodding him to find an answer he had known all along. 

The problem was that Remus didn’t particularly feel like he knew _anything _just now. He hadn’t seen Peter in months, hadn’t lived with him in years, and he still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of Peter— Peter Pettigrew!— being a Death Eater. It was absurd, almost laughable. Peter sharing a pint with Mulciber or having a laugh with Lucius Goddamn Malfoy. Peter, whose culinary repertoire consisted almost entirely of cheese toasties and sausages and who had thought bathing was all but optional until the sixth year. Peter, who was jocular and occasionally a bit dim, who listened to ‘Meatloaf’ and had nightmares after Professor Delphine saw the Grim in his tea leaves. What did Remus know about Peter Pettigrew that fit what he had become: a traitor, a dark wizard?__

____

____

“I don’t know,” he said tiredly. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, staring at the map. Dumbledore’s name paced in the headmaster’s office, the Gryffindor common room swarmed with names that Remus no longer recognised. No Peter Pettigrew, no James Potter, no Sirius Black. Just Remus Lupin, sitting in McGonagall’s study like a naughty school boy taking a late exam for which he still did not know the answers. 

“His family?” asked McGonagall, and Remus felt even stupider than before. He had met the Pettigrews eons ago, back when they were at school and Peter’s parents would come to pick him up at King’s Cross Station. He remembered that Mrs. Pettigrew was a fussy witch with Peter’s watery blue eyes and Mr. Pettigrew was a stout, slightly harassed-looking wizard. The two were purebloods, neither particularly memorable, and they had run an apothecary just outside of Shropshire. He’d also had an elder sister— Ned or Edith or something— who had graduated before the four of them were in school. 

“Yeah,” he said, slowly. “I mean, they wouldn’t recognise him as a rat and he knows the place, he grew up there, and they’d certainly gets the news… it’d fit….” 

He paused, uncertain. It still didn’t quite sit right with him, the idea of the Pettigrew’s house. He had been so sure about Hogwarts. Frankly it would make more sense for Peter to hide in the house of a random wizarding family, somewhere he wouldn’t be easily found. If he was, it would be nearly impossible to find him within a week. Remus pushed that thought from his mind. 

“Mad— I mean, Moody’s got polyjuice, yeah?” he asked. McGonagall nodded. 

“Right,” he said, “we’re too easily recognised, if we go to the house we ought to look like ministry officials, maybe to discuss the—“ he took a calming breath, “the Order of Merlin.” 

“Good,” said McGonagall, shortly. She walked to the fireplace, throwing on some floo powder and saying “Alastair’s office!” 

It was always very odd to watch someone floo call. Remus turned away from McGonagall, poking at the map impatiently. _C’mon Pettigrew, _he thought, _get hungry you stupid berk. I know you’re in there. _____

_____ _

_____ _

_Messer Prongs requests that Mr. Moony not be so bloody impatient ___

____

____

_Mr. Wormtail would suggest that if Mr. Moony insists on sticking his great scarred nose into Mr. Wormtail’s business that Mr. Moony ought to put that nose to good use._

____

____

_Mr. Moony would like to remind Mr. Wormtail that Mr. Moony is not a bloodhound, Wormy, how many times has this been said. ___

____

____

Remus felt another jolt of anger towards the marauders in the map. “You’re dead,” he said to Mr. Prongs, but did not touch his wand to the  
parchment. The fire went out.

“Right,” said McGonagall. She turned to face him, brushing soot off her robes. “Off you go, then. Alastair is arranging the potion.”

Remus nodded numbly, brushing his fingers hesitantly against the parchment. McGonagall sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“If he’s here,” she promised, “we will find him.” Remus nodded again, stiffly pulling himself away from the map. McGonagall smiled at him encouragingly and he felt suddenly very silly and ashamed. It was as though they— McGonagall, Dumbledore, Moody— were exactly what they were supposed to be: soldiers, teachers, leaders, investigators. They cared about getting Sirius back because he was wrongly imprisoned while fighting for their side but they weren’t going spare at the thought of him in Azkaban or failing to be pragmatic about proving his innocence. Remus was supposed to be a soldier— a spy, even. _A spy for Dumbledore _, he thought, bitterly, _not the other way around _. Not that that mattered now. Now he wasn't acting like a soldier or a spy or even an investigator. He was acting like a kid, refusing to be separated from the bit of parchment, unwilling to delegate to better, older witches and wizards because he felt as though he was the only one who could ensure that Peter would be caught, that____

_____ _

_____ _

Of course Dumbledore was _terrible _at delegating the important stuff and no one treated _him _like a child…____

_____ _

_____ _

Remus shook his head, trying to rid himself of the anger fogging up his mind. For one absurd moment he thought about Xenophilous Lovegood— Christ, how long had it been since he’d thought about Xenophilous Lovegood, Ravenclaw prefect and professional weirdo— who would have offered him a sympathetic “nargles?”. Being back at school was doing strange things to his head. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to be here

“Mr. Lupin,” McGonagall said, her patience clearly wearing thin. Remus smiled bracingly at her and stepped towards the grate. 

“Good luck, Professor,” he said. McGonagall suddenly looked very, very tired. Remus wondered for a moment if she wasn’t just as tired as he  
was, if she wasn’t just as frantic with worry and guilt. 

“Godspeed, Mr. Lupin,” she said, “come back in one piece, won’t you?” 

Remus smiled thinly. “I almost always do,” he said, and floo’ed to Moody’s London flat. 

………………… 

 

It had been surprisingly easy, getting into the Pettigrew’s house. Peter’s elder sister— Enid, Remus remembered guiltily— recognised him at once. She had burst into tears, pulling Remus in for a hug and blubbering about James and Peter (“Such close friends,” she had wailed, “poor Petey, he loved James so very much, he must have been in such a state to go after that Sirius, always thought he had a horrible sense of humour.”). Mr. Pettigrew was at work and Mrs. Pettigrew had apparently been bedridden since she had heard the news. 

Though Mad Eye was polyjuiced to look like a middle aged Ministry wizard named Bernie Pillsworth, they had decided to keep Remus as  
himself. Mad Eye had said that Peter may reveal himself to Remus, might consider him a potential protector; Remus suspected that it was because the potion was only for human use and that McGonagall had told Mad Eye not to explain. 

Awkward, but not unexpected. It turned out to have been the right decision: Enid confessed that she’d been hiding from well-wishers and Ministry members lately. 

“Everyone’s so happy these days,” she had said to Remus shakily as Mad Eye made them all a strong pot of tea. “Because the war’s over-like.”  
Mad Eye handed her a mug and she wrapped her pudgy fingers around it, breathing deeply. “Ta, Bernie.” 

“My pleasure,” Mad Eye rumbled. Remus didn’t think he’d ever seen him so… civilised. “Mind if I use your loo?” 

Enid nodded. “Up the stairs, second door to the left.” Mad Eye left to search the house and Remus smiled wanly at Enid. He wasn’t sure what to say, really. She didn’t seem to need much encouragement; it was clear that she had been longing to talk to someone, anyone about her brother. 

“I remember I woke up and people were still celebrating,” Enid was saying, “a whole flock of owls flew past the window, there were bonfires well into the night. People knocking at the apothecary at all hours for hangover potions and..” she blushed “…all sorts of things for parties. And there I was thinking I’d rather have a war and a brother than no war and no..” she hiccuped and buried her face in her hands. 

Remus had no idea how to reply. She was the first person he’d spoken to who seemed to understand how horrible that day had been, how impossible it was to be happy that the war was over when the end of the war had cost him his family. He felt guilty for taking advantage of her grief and angry that she had never noticed, never realised that Peter had gone over. She had lived with him, hadn’t she? How could she not have known? 

He had just given her a clumsy pat on the hand when a silver cat darted into the room. Enid screamed, upsetting her tea, but Remus didn’t take his eyes off the cat. His entire body was suddenly tense, vibrating like a plucked chord. He held his breath. 

_Pettigrew has been apprehended _, said the cat with McGonagall’s voice. _Return immediately. _____

_____ _

_____ _

“Apprehended?” Enid was saying faintly as Mad Eye appeared abruptly at the top of the stairs. Remus heard her as though she was speaking through a tunnel. He stood, his legs shaking slightly, ignoring Enid’s babbling and Mad Eye’s brusque apology. Perhaps later he would come back, explain, apologise. Say he understood what it was like to find out when a loved one turned traitor. But all Remus could think now was _He’s caught _and _Sirius. Sirius Sirius Sirius.___

_____ _

_____ _

There was a loud crack, and Remus Lupin vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right! He's been got. Next chapter up within the week...


	6. Confessions of A Rat Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the interrogation bit is stolen liberally from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Warning for racism, homophobia, abuse, mentions of suicide, veritaserum (I think that does require warning, yeah?) and a variety of blood-purity related slurs.

Remus arrived in the Hogshead only seconds before Moody. Several patrons sloshed their drinks down their fronts and grumbled at the rudeness of apparating directly into the pub, but Remus ignored him. He ran past the barman, breathing hard and fast until he reached Aberforth’s quarters. 

“Slow down, Lupin,” growled Moody as he stumped up the stairs behind Aberforth, Remus paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, trying to think past the pounding rush of blood in his ears. 

“Albus’ office,” said Aberforth gruffly, shoving Remus aside and tossing floo powder onto the fire. It burned green and Remus walked through, barely feeling the rush of fireplaces and the nauseating twisting stuffiness. He was deposited in the fire of the Headmaster’s office and jumped out immediately, looking about wildly until he saw Peter. A sort of cold calm filled Remus at the sight of him, captured and human and surrounded by Order members Hogwarts professors.

Peter sat facing away from Remus in the chair in front of the headmaster’s desk. It was a sickeningly familiar sight, Peter’s wispy blond head and slightly chubby frame fidgeting anxiously before the headmaster as though he had been caught for charming the Slytherin Quidditch team’s jock-straps to shrink on the wearer. The only indication of the changes wrought by the past four years was that, rather than sitting on the edge of his seat, Peter was strapped in by silvery ropes. 

“Ah, Remus,” said Dumbledore mildly, “good of you to get here so fast, Alastor is…?” 

“Here, Albus,” grunted Moody as he exited the fireplace. Peter gave a squeak of terror and Remus remembered how anxious Peter had always been around Mad Eye. They’d teased him for it, back before. Had he really been unnerved by the eye? Or was it that Moody was a dark wizard hunter and Peter was, all that time, a Death Eater?

“If you’d be so kind as to join us, Alastor, Remus,” said Dumbledore, and both went to stand behind the desk, facing Peter. As soon as Remus looked at him, Peter began to babble. His watery eyes were circled in deep bruises and his hair was greasy and tangled. Other than that, he looked exactly as he had when Remus had last seen him only months ago at the Potter’s for James’ birthday tea: round-faced and slightly younger than his twenty-one years. 

“Remus,” gasped Peter, “Moony, my friend, my dear friend..” 

Remus felt his stomach twist, and he gave Peter an ugly smile. “Ah, Peter,” he said pleasantly, “I had a little chat with Sirius the other day, about last Hallowe’en. You may be able to guess some of the finer details from the last time you saw him.” 

“Remus,” Peter gasped, his face breaking out in sweat, “you don’t believe him, do you? He tried to kill me, Remus…” 

“So we’ve heard,” said Remus, more coldly. “I’d like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you’ll be so—”

“He’s going to come to try and kill me if he gets out!” Peter squeaked, trying to pull his hands free. With a shiver of revulsion, Remus saw that his index finger was missing. “He killed Lily and James and now he’s going to kill me too… You’ve got to help me, Remus…”

“No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” said Remus. “Why didn’t you come to headquarters after the explosion?”

“Sorted things out?” squealed Peter, looking wildly about the room, eyes taking in the professors with their wands drawn, the imperviused windows, the single door. “I know he’ll come after me! I know he’ll be back for me! I’ve been hiding for months!”

“You know Sirius will what, break out of Azkaban?” said Remus incredulously, “when nobody has ever done it before?”

“He’s got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!” Peter shouted shrilly. “How else did he fool us all? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!”

Remus laughed, a horrible, mirthless laugh.

“Voldemort, teach Sirius tricks?” he said.

Pettigrew flinched as though Remus had brandished a whip at him. 

“Scared to hear your old master’s name?” grunted Mad Eye. “I don’t blame you, Pettigrew. The Death Esters aren’t very happy with you, are they?”

“Don’t know what you mean—” muttered Peter, his breathing faster than ever. His whole face was shining with sweat now.

“You haven’t been hiding from Sirius,” said Remus, “You’ve been hiding from Voldemort’s old supporters. Voldemort went to the Potters’ on your information and met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort’s supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they’ve seen the error of their ways.”

“Don’t know… what you’re talking about…” said Peter again, more shrilly than ever. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up at Remus beseechingly. “You don’t actually believe this—this madness, Remus— you know what he’s capable of…”

Remus felt a swell of anger, but again pushed it down. “I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man wouldn’t seek out help,” he said evenly.

“Innocent, but scared!” squealed Pettigrew. “If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban—the spy, Sirius Black!”

“How dare you,” said Remus. “Sirius, a spy for Voldemort, after everything the Death Eaters did to him and Regulus. When did he ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than himself? But you, Peter—I’ll never understand why we didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you? It used to be Sirius and James but they got too busy to protect you, didn’t they?”

Peter wiped his face again; he was almost panting for breath.

“Me, a spy… must be out of your mind… never… don’t know how you can say such a—”

“You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,” said Remus. “Do you deny it?”

Peter burst into tears. It was horrible to watch, disgusting, repulsive. Remus wanted to hit him.

“Remus, what could I have done? The Dark Lord… you have no idea… he has weapons you can’t imagine… I was scared, Remus, I was never brave like you and Sirius and James. I never meant it to happen— He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me—”

“No,” said Remus, coldly. “You were passing information to him for a year before you killed Lily and James. You let the Order believe that I was the spy.”

“He—he was taking over everywhere!” gasped Peter, changing tactics yet again. “Wh-what was there to be gained by refusing him?”

“What was there to be gained by refusing a dark wizard whose intent was to rid the world of non-magical people and to subjugate magical creatures?” asked Dumbledore, politely. Remus had no words. He watched Peter expressionlessly, trying to stay calm.

“You don’t understand!” whined Peter. “He would have killed me, Remus!”

“Then you should have died, Peter,” said Remus quietly, “as we would have done for you. You murdered Lily and James. You made Harry an orphan, imprisoned Sirius, tortured Alice and Frank, murdered the McKinnons, and ruined me. You cannot think you will not pay for that.” 

Peter turned away from him, to stare beseechingly at McGonagall. “Professor,” he whimpered. “Professor, you were always fair, you know James wouldn’t have wanted me killed… James would have understood, Professor… he would have shown me mercy… I didn’t do any of those things, it was the Death Eaters… I only gave some information… I was forced… James wouldn’t….”

“I do not believe we speak of death, Mr. Pettigrew,” McGonagall interrupted coldly. “Sirius is currently on trial with a maximum penalty of thirteen life sentences; I think that sounds rather fitting for you as well.” 

Peter continued to sob, and Remus turned away. 

“What next,” he asked Dumbledore. 

The headmaster turned to Moody and raised his voice slightly. “Severus, if you please.” Remus’ blood ran cold at the name. Peter screamed shrilly as Snape stepped out from the shadowy corner behind the Headmaster’s desk. 

“Do shut up, Pettigrew,” said Snape. Remus fought the overwhelming urge to hit him. He’s on our side, he told himself, Dumbledore trusts him. 

Snape walked up to Peter, drawing a thin vial from his robes. Peter struggled even harder, moaning and whimpering as Snape immobilised him wordlessly and poured the veritaserum down his throat. Remus wanted to look away but there was something cold and hard inside of him that wanted to see Peter suffer. 

“Remus,” Peter gurgled, “Remus please….” 

“Did you tell Voldemort where to find Lily and James,” he said coldly. Peter’s eyes rolled and he gave a sudden laugh. 

“They had it coming,” said Peter in a strange and horrible voice. He had stopped struggling; his eyes were over-bright and he was looking directly at Remus. 

“They had it coming, golden boy James Potter, goddamn prince among men or whatever Sirius called him, clever beautiful mudblood Lily Evans.” Snape started forwards and Dumbledore held up a hand in warning. Peter was grinning at Remus. “We had such a good thing didn’t we, Marauding about, Moony Wormtail Padfoot and Prongs, the cocksucking werewolf the whiny posh boy the rich bully and the spare.” 

“Don’t victimise yourself,” said Remus, disgusted, refusing to look at the others to see their reaction to what Peter had called him. “When did you become a death eater?”

“After school,” Peter answered immediately. “After all the bullshit Black us through in sixth year and you just fucking crawled back to him like the pathetic half breed wet blanket little poof you’ve always been because James didn’t give a fuck about either of us. We all had to pretend it was okay because his mummy was a bitch but you know what? I didn’t fucking forgive him. James deserved to die but Sirius Goddamn Black deserved to rot like the soul-less piece of shit inbreed he was.” 

“When did you become a death eater,” Remus repeated. 

“After Hogwarts, you thought we’d stay family because your piece of shit father was too poor to afford a werewolf and your mud mother died like the filthy little muggle she was and you moved in with Sirius to leech off his faggot uncle and hope some day he’d crawl into bed with you just to piss his mother off even more and James knocked up the mudblood and made a perfect little family with the blood traitor paki fortune.” Peter spat. “And I had to go and work at the fucking apothecary, living with my parents while you lot had the time of your lives…” 

“We were in the middle of the war, Peter,” Remus said before he could stop himself. Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“May I take it from here, Mr. Lupin?” he asked. Remus nodded, not taking his eyes off of Peter. 

“You were recruited for the Order of the Pheonix in February of 1979, if I remember correctly,” Dumbledore said lightly. Peter nodded. “When were you recruited by Lord Voldemort’s army?” Peter hissed and cringed at the name, his eyes burning with fury.

“It’s not an army,” he said, his eyes still locked on Remus, “it’s a movement. A force to clean up what filthy, stupid, greedy muggles have done to the world.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw Snape stiffen. Did he really no longer believe in wizard supremacy? Why was he here? 

“I may not have been as clever or talented as James and Sirius and I didn’t spend all my time revising like Remus but I was one of the best in our year, would’ve gone even farther if I hadn’t lived in the shadow of three stupid showoffs who made up for their lack of personality and tragic backstories through always having to be the centre of attention and then Sirius tried to kill Snivvilly over there” he jerked his head at Snape, whose hand twitched towards his wand, “and it was better, so much better, without that attention seeking pretty boy berk always gumming everything up with his moods and his selfishness until he had to go and get himself blasted off the family tree and you forgave him and I would NEVER,” 

“Mr. Pettigrew,” interrupted Dumbledore, “while I appreciate the, er, holistic nature of your tale, I would like to specify. At what time were you recruited for Voldemort?” Peter squeaked at the name and gnashed his teeth at the headmaster 

“September 1978,” he said in a low, forced voice. Remus sucked in a sharp breath. Four bloody years. 

“How,” he croaked, before he could stop himself. Peter grinned again. 

“It was a boring fucking day,” he said with relish, “and we were supposed to have dinner, the four of us, but James and Sirius were having a row when I got to the flat and Lily was telling them to calm down and you, Remus, my dear old friend, you said “Not now Peter, today’s not good,” and that’s when I knew who’d really been replaced. Not Sirius, not you. Me. James Potter’s first fucking friend for a bunch of mud bloods half breeds and blood traitors. The same muggle fuckers who took all the ministry jobs and are planning to make the wizarding world just as flthy and disgusting as the muggle one. Well I went for a pint and picked a fight with Avery and Mulciber and you know what? They asked me where you lot were and I told them and they fucking listened to me and kept listening.” 

“You must have been very pleased,” Dumbledore said conversationally, “when you were recruited for the Order.” 

“Over the fucking moon, Remus,” said Peter, not looking at Dumbledore. “And it was so goddamn easy to go unnoticed, just Peter Pettigrew, Wormtail, errand boy. The hardest fucking part was pretending that you lot didn’t fucking disgust me.” 

“Someone ought to wash your mouth out with soap, Pettigrew,” said Snape quietly, and Peter turned to leer at him. 

“Shut up Snivellus you oily half blood,” he said, “Didn’t Voldemort throw you out because you tried to defend some mud blood whore?”

Snape drew his wand so quickly that Remus barely had time to react. He threw up a shield charm, furious. 

“What do you think you’re playing at,” he demanded, pointing a wand at Snape, “if you can’t handle his bullshit then leave. He killed my family and I’m not trying to blast him apart because we need him. I don’t know why you’re not in Azkaban or what you’re doing here but if you screw this up I will not stop until I find the evidence to put you in a cold dark cell directly next to Sirius.” 

Snape gave him a cold, languid sneer, but stowed his wand in his pocket. Peter was snivelling and cowering, straining against the bonds. 

“Thank you, Remus,” Dumbledore said mildly. “I believe that Alastair, Pomona, Filius, and I will be able to take it from here. Minerva, would you escort Severus and Remus to the break room?” 

Both Remus and Snape opened their mouths quickly as though to argue, but Dumbledore turned away from them to speak softly with Moody. Scowling, Snape pushed past Remus to follow McGonagall. Remus had just turned to join them when Peter called to him again. 

“You know, I overestimated you Remus,” he said. Remus stood with his back to Peter. “I didn’t think I had to set up anything for you after Sirius went to Azkaban. I thought you’d just fucking kill yourself.” 

“Goodbye, Peter.” said Remus, “Give the dementors a kiss for me.” He walked out of Dumbledore’s office, Peter’s screams echoing down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much of the Harry Potter fandom, I headcanon James (and thus Harry) as east asian. He's not necessarily Pakistani but racist white British wizards are racist.


	7. Gellert Grindelwald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For questions on The Book and The Quill please check out Pottermore. Also, I swear, I SWEAR that no matter what it may look like briefly, Albus is NOT coming on to Remus and if anyone so much as mentions it in the comments I will literally die of shame. Warnings for use of marijuana (medicinally and recreationally), self-mutilation, mentions of major character death, mentions of child abuse, suggestions of homophobia

As soon as Remus got back to the flat he began to stalk about with nervous energy, clumsily transfiguring a mixing bowl into a passable bathtub. After filling it with a very sloppy _aguamenti _and then heating the water until it was just shy of unbearably hot, Remus dug about his dirty pants pockets for the old tobacco tin he used for grass. His hands were shaking too much to roll it properly so instead he transfigured a fork into an old-fashioned pipe and packed the bowl before stripping and lowering himself into the bath.__

____

__

Sitting naked in a still-slightly-plastic-looking yellow bathtub with a pipe clenched between his teeth, Remus closed his eyes. It had been his Mum’s idea, the weed. She’d started smoking it during the chemo, when Remus was nine and they thought he’d never be able to go to Hogwarts. She’d allowed him to try a little when he turned twelve, only on the night after the full moon when he couldn’t sleep for the pain, and then later they found that the wolf, when stoned, was far less of a danger to himself than usual.

_Stupid wolf _, Remus thought, rubbing the scars on his arm. The full moon had been particularly bad this month. All the physicality of grief seemed to have manifested in the Wolf and he had torn himself apart in fury and mindless pain. When he had awoken in the ministry holding cells, the healer who had been on duty that night said she’d never seen anything like it. _It’ll scar _, she’d said gently as she had poured dittany over his torn and excruciating shoulder. _Great, _Remus had replied, _another for the collection._______

_____ _

_____ _

As he soaked, not even bothering to vanish the pungent smoke, Remus willed himself to cry. He deserved to cry, damnit. James was dead, Lily was dead, he didn’t know where Harry was, Peter was a traitor and he was going to die in Azkaban, Sirius was currently surrounded by round the clock embodiments of depression and soul-sucking agony. In his mind he played everything horrible he could think of like some sort of gruesome muggle film. Lily and James’ funeral. Being seven years old and waking up covered in his own blood, his father pointing a wand at him like he was some sort of dark thing. Twelve-year-old Sirius’ eyes when Bellatrix left a boggart shaped like Walburga in their dormitory. James’ voice after The Prank when he told Remus what had happened with Sirius and Snpae. Peter’s face when he caught Remus snogging Cardoc Dearborn in fifth year. Marlene McKinnon’s open coffin. Lily and James’s funeral. Lily and James’ funeral. 

Remus had asked about Harry, after the funeral. He would at least be able to tell Sirius that much, that he had not been so wrapped up in his own grief and anger that he had forgotten James and Lily’s baby son. After the funeral Remus had approached Dumbledore, his eyes red and the sleeves of his borrowed dress robes stiff with salt. The headmaster had been staring in placid silence, gazing upon the statue of the young family he had just erected before the graveyard. 

_I do hope I got the hair right, _Dumbledore had said without looking at Remus.__ _Young James was always very proud of it ___. Remus felt his eyes burn and he hastily wiped them with his sleeve.

_____ _

_____ _

_Where’s Harry, _he had croaked,__ _Lily and James, they’d want me to look after him, there’s no one else left. ___

_____ _

_____ _

Dumbledore had laid a hand on his shoulder. _My dear Remus, ___he had said, _the boy is safe. That is all you need know. ___Remus had nodded and walked away without another word.

_____ _

_____ _

Now, in the bath which was quickly approaching lukewarm (and which Remus was almost certainly too stoned to heat without fear of boiling himself to death), he practised what he would say to Sirius when Sirius asked about Harry. 

“Oh, well,” he said aloud to an imaginary Sirius, “see, funny story that. I don’t know where he is. I did ask of course. Where’s Harry, Dumbledore? Where’s James’ son? I’m supposed to take care of him now everyone’s dead or worse and so if you could just direct me to where he is I’ll nip in and grab him right now I can’t stand the idea of spending another minute with nothing and no one. And then he said no, he’s safe, safer than he would be with you because you’re a werewolf and you have no job and no friends and no money and so I didn’t argue, Sirius, and I’m sorry because I should have but it’s been a bit of a month. See for a long time I didn’t have any friends or any future and I spent all my days dreading the cage in my parent’s basement and then I got to go to school and I made friends, a family really, and then my mum died and my father and I couldn’t even look at each other without seeing her absence and so my friends really did become my family and there was a war and it was hard but it was okay because I could come home and you would be there and there was the baby and then you and I stopped talking properly because everything we did was in secret and there was a spy and then James and Lily died and I thought Peter died only he didn’t and Dumbledore told me it was you and I believed it because I have never once trusted anything in my life that has looked as beautiful as you not since fifth year at least and” he took a shaky breath but the tears still wouldn’t come. He could feel them building up like a headache and relit the pipe, puffing like the Hogwarts express. 

“…and so when I asked about Harry I guess Dumbledore must have known that on top of being poor and a werewolf and someone apparently sketchy enough to be a spy, on top of all of that, I could barely get up in the morning because everyone I had ever loved was dead or had betrayed me and I was destined to fail anyone I ever cared for and so he could never never trust me to keep James’ son safe. So I didn’t press the subject. So then I got drunk and I fell asleep and I woke up and everyone was dead so I went to the ministry and they put me in a cage and the wolf tried to kill us but I’m still alive and I proved you were innocent or I will because you’d never never never hurt Lily and James and Harry and so please can you forgive me for not finding him because I love him I love him because he is the only person left in my family but you and you probably hate me now anyway.”

“Damn, Lupin,” grunted Mad Eye and Remus nearly jumped a foot into the air. He fumbled for his wand, dropping the pipe in the bath and scrambling out to face the intruder. 

“One, you’re holding that thing the wrong way round, you twit, and two, cover your bits. Are you stoned?” 

Remus blushed, turning his wand and summoning a towel. “No,” he said stupidly, the smell of the pot still thick in the air. He Vanished it quickly and did his best to look as sober. Mad Eye snorted. 

“Learning a lot about you this week,” he said, and Remus’ flush deepened. He knotted the towel more firmly about his waist and raised his wand. 

“What’s my patronus,” he asked. Mad Eye nodded approvingly. 

“A wolf,” he said, “fancy that eh?” Remus turned without replying and went to his room, shuffling about for a clean jumper and trousers. He didn’t much feel like bantering, especially because Mad Eye hadn’t tested him. _Do you think I’m human? _he wanted to ask Mad Eye. Or maybe he just thought that a death eater wouldn’t be stupid enough to get stoned in a bathtub in the middle of Remus’ living room.__

____

____

Now Remus was feeling hungry and self-conscious and more than a little annoyed that Mad Eye had come to judge him on a day like this. 

“It’s medicinal,” he said as he returned to his kitchen, before Mad Eye could comment. The old auror had the decency to nod. 

“Sorry about Pettigrew,” he grunted, “the ones who know us best cut the worst, eh?” Remus did not respond. He began looking about for some tea and hoped that he would still have some biscuits left over from the ones McGonagall had pressed on him after the funeral. 

“You know, they call fire whisky the poor man’s veritaserum,” Mad Eye tried again, and Remus put the kettle on the hob without looking at him, “don’t be like that lad, we need to talk. Albus will be here in a few minutes.” 

Remus’ stomach plummeted. “What?” he asked, weakly. What had he been thinking, getting high on a day like today? Of course Dumbledore would want to talk to him after they’d sorted Peter. “Bugger,” he said, washing another cup for Dumbledore. 

“No need for that, I’ll be leaving in a moment,” said Mad Eye, “got to keep watch on Pettigrew and all, we’re taking shifts. Don’t trust the ministry to handle him just yet.” Remus pulled out the tin of lemon shortbread and placed it on the table by the sofa. 

“Thanks,” he said, and Mad Eye grunted. His false eye swivelled into his head and he stood abruptly. 

“Right, that’s Albus then,” he said. “Might want to tidy a bit eh?” Mad Eye vanished the water and Remus untransfigured the bathtub and the pipe, siphoning the spilled water from the floor. There was a knock at the door and Mad Eye opened it to reveal Dumbledore in an immaculate plum coloured velvet suit, his beard tied rather absurdly with a little cord that had tiny crystals hanging off the ends and his hair in a loose bun. Remus, who had taken a sip of tea, coughed in surprise. 

“Ah, Alastair,” said Dumbledore brightly, “we are ships passing in the day as it were. What was the first conversation we ever had?” 

“You told me that if I was going to torment the Slytherins that I had better be more subtle about it because you wanted to win the house cup,” said Mad Eye with a grin at Remus. “Horrible Head Boy, he was.” 

“Ah, youth” said Dumbledore with a smile. Mad Eye turned his wand on Dumbledore. 

“Why did you never become an animagus?” asked Mad Eye, and Dumbledore laughed. 

“Never could keep that blasted mandrake leaf in my mouth for a month,” he said ruefully. “Seems a bit silly now that I know three fifteen year olds managed it. Ah, the old ego did need a little deflating.”

“A little,” said Mad Eye with a snort. He said goodbye to Remus and Dumbledore and disapparated with a crack. Dumbledore turned to Remus. 

“I always did find it a bit silly, these questions,” he said mildly, “as I would certainly research my own preferences and proclivities if I were impersonating myself. Still, unwise in these times to be lax. What did I show you on your last day at Hogwarts school?” 

Remus looked at him numbly, and then the memory flooded through. “You took me to the forbidden tower,” he said quietly, “the one even James and Sirius couldn’t break into. You showed me The Book and The Quill. You..” his voice broke and he swiped at his eyes hastily, “…you told me that there was only one reason I was at Hogwarts. Not because you had decided to help me, not because of my dad. Because The Book and The Quill said I was a wizard, and all wizards in Britain get the chance to go to Hogwarts. You said they were never wrong.” He turned abruptly and busied himself with the tea. 

“You never said,” he blurted out involuntarily, “that it meant I was human. But I knew that’s what you were saying. You were saying that I was human and a wizard and I could never tell you how important that was to me.” 

He turned to Dumbledore, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Milk? Sugar?” 

Dumbledore was beaming at him. “One milk three sugars, please,” he said, and Remus acquiesced, wrinkling his nose at the amount of sugar. 

“Biscuit?” he asked, and Dumbledore seemed to hesitate. When Remus looked up at him the old man had a mischievous look in his eyes. 

“I’d rather like some of whatever you were having before Alastair arrived, if that would be alright with you,” he said mildly, and Remus’ eyes widened to the size of sauce pans. 

“Uh,” he said, stupidly, and thought unbidden _Sirius would be so jealous _, “uh yeah, um, I’ll just, I’ll, yeah.” He stumbled into his bedroom and grabbed the tin, returning to the living room to roll. Dumbledore was sitting on the sofa with his tea, smiling vaguely into the cup.__

____

____

“You know, I haven’t indulged in the use of recreational substances outside of the occasional alcoholic beverage in quite some time,” said Dumbledore mildly, “though Pomona makes an excellent gillyweed cake whenever there’s a lunar eclipse.” 

“Oh,” said Remus, entirely unsure as to what to do with that information, “lovely.” He passed Dumbledore the spliff, feeling that he couldn’t be the one to start in case he was actually joking. Dumbledore lit it with his wand and pulled in a massive drag. He passed the spliff back to Remus, who gave a dainty puff. 

“So,” said Dumbledore with a great billow of white smoke, “I know how you’re feeling. Or at the very least I thought I knew what you were feeling when I told you of the events on thirty-first of October.”

Remus looked at him dully, and offered him the spliff in order to avoid replying. Dumbledore took another long drag. 

“Cowardly, perhaps,” he said with a long look at the joint, “to be inebriated when I tell you this. I must confess that I have never discussed this with anyone before and that it does a great deal of undoing to unearth what I had spent nearly eight decades hiding. Still, it is more calming than veritaserum and it is perhaps wisest to be, as they say, on your level for this particular chat.” 

Remus blushed. “It’s medicinal,” he said again, which was true in general if not true it today. 

Dumbledore looked up in surprise. “Oh dear man do not get me wrong; I quite believe you, I was not passing judgement. I simply felt I needed to explain why I am sitting here in your living room today, beset by nerves.” 

_Dumbledore, nervous? _Remus wondered. But it was true; he hadn’t noticed the slight tremble in Dumbledore’s hands.__

____

____

“Oh,” he said again, “well, I mean, you’re always, um, welcome.” Dumbledore beamed at him. 

“Thank you, Remus,” he said.

Remus wondered if this was some sort of odd prank, or if he’d had more to smoke than he realised. “Sure, Albus,” he said, the name still unfamiliar on his very dry tongue. He took a sip of tea and waited expectantly. 

“Right,” said Dumbledore taking another drag. “Well, I hope it’s not too much of an intrusion to ask you if there was any truth to Mr. Pettigrew’s insinuations towards your, er, sexual preference.” Remus wanted to sink through the floor. 

“I mean,” he said weakly, “um, I’m not, I’m not gay if that’s what you’re asking.” He took the proffered joint and gathered his courage. “I’m, well I think I’m bisexual really. I like both. Men a bit better but um, both.” 

“Ah,” said Dumbledore inscrutably. Remus passed him the spliff. “Well I thought it may be prudent to tell you that we understand each other, in that regard. Mostly. I am, as you said, ‘gay’”. 

Remus choked on the biscuit he had just bitten into, and Dumbledore cleared his windpipe with a flick of his wand. Gasping, Remus thanked him. He had no idea what to say. Luckily Dumbledore steamrolled ahead. 

“Odd thing, how difficult it is to say that,” he said mildly, “though I feel almost giddy to hear it out loud for the first time. I am gay,” he chuckled, “though more in theory than in practice these days.” 

Remus, who did _not _want to know this, nodded quickly. “You see,” Dumbledore continued, “I had something of a poor introduction to the world of love. I met him after my mother’s funeral on the summer I left Hogwarts. He was handsome, talented, and charming— very charming. Not only was he wholly unrepulsed by my affection, he returned my feelings. For a very short while we were quite happy. No one in my life had ever challenged me as he did, nor loved me as he loved me. His name, and you will recognise it, was Gellert Grindelwald.__

____

____

Remus stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “You’re joking,” he said flatly. “This is a joke. I’m dreaming. I’m hallucinating. I’m making this up.” 

Dumbledore took another long drag. “That,” he said, “is the problem with doing this while inebriated. I can promise you that I am being both quite genuine and quite serious, and if tomorrow you would like a glance at my pensieve I would be willing to show you a selection of memories that will validate my story. At the time being, however, I will need you to take me at my word.”

“Okay,” said Remus. He refused the offer of the spliff and Dumbledore stubbed it out and placed it in an ashtray on the table. 

“Grindlewald and I knew each other better than anyone else at the time, or at least we thought we did. I ignored the darkness of his ambitions; he, in turn, must have assumed that I would get over my queasiness surrounding the morality of subjugating non-magical people. I believe the phrase ‘for the greater good’, which sits above Nurmengard, was actually inspired by a note I sent him late one night. In the end it was Aberforth who set me straight, if you’ll excuse the turn of phrase. He quarried with Grindelwald, and Gellert revealed himself to be what he had always been. He killed someone very dear to me and left. I was betrayed and ashamed and very nearly unhinged. It was because of this that I never took the position of minister for magic. I no longer trusted myself with power: or, indeed, with love.”

Remus thought this was a bit rich, giving that Dumbledore remained one of the best connected and most powerful wizards of their time. Still, as the story sank in, he felt a  
lurch of recognition. 

“You knew,” he said, “you knew how.. how I felt about Sirius.” Dumbledore smiled sadly. 

“I had a hunch, and I tend to put rather a lot of weight into my hunches. An old man’s folly.” 

“Is that why you didn’t believe me?” he asked, “when it happened and I said it couldn’t have been Sirius?”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore simply, “though it did set me to thinking. I began to wonder if I was giving you nearly enough credit. I, after all, knew Grindelwald for a matter of weeks. You have known Sirius Black since you were both eleven years old. You lived together for nearly ten years.” 

“Seven years with Peter,” said Remus glumly, “and I never even thought he could…” 

“Yes, well,” said Dumbledore kindly, “you weren’t in love with Peter Pettigrew. You are much more inclined than I was to analyse those you love. I believe James once called you an expert on all things Sirius.” 

Remus looked at his hands. “He didn’t love me back, if that’s what you were wondering,” he said quietly. Dumbledore put a hand on his arm. 

“I somehow find that hard to believe,” he said, quietly. Remus shrugged. 

“I just want him back,” he said, “however he’ll have me. I can’t believe I left him in Azkaban. I can’t believe I…” his voice broke. 

“The fault is mine, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore replied, “but we will fix it. Which brings me to the second part of Mr. Pettigrew’s confession.” Remus looked up sharply. 

“He’ll tell them I’m a werewolf,” he said, “they’ll know you let me come to Hogwarts.” 

“I’m sure there will be an inquiry,” said Dumbledore brightly, “but as no one was harmed during your time at Hogwarts and the only student ever endangered rather owes me a favour I must admit that I have no fears on my end.” 

“I’m registered,” said Remus dully, “but it’ll get worse, won’t it?” Dumbledore sighed. 

“Indubitably,” he said, “but after all of this is over I think I may be able to offer you a job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon.... soon.... I really meant for this to be the trial, I did, but then this happened. Also this fanfic is literally the only time I've ever written with Moody but he's really growing on me? Like I'm pretty sure he's been in every chapter thus far idk what I'm going to do without him


	8. Blood Magic (21st November 1981)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some major notes. I am aware that Walburga canonically died in 1985, Arcturus Black (paternal grandfather) in 1991, Cygnus Black III (uncle) in 1992, Cassiopeia Black (aunt) in 1992, and Pollux Black (maternal grandfather) in 1991. I’ve taken some time to think about how involved they’ll be in this story and decided they can generally fuck off as I do not plan to redeem them and thus do not want them to be a part of Harry’s life. I’ve killed Walburga four years early (good riddance). Cassiopeia and Arcturus can be wherever you like to think they are; I personally like to think that they are mouldering somewhere in the English countryside and not following the news. It’d be a bit awkward if Cygnus came to claim himself paterfamilias so he’s dead too. Pollux is alive but I have plans for him— you’ll just have to wait and see. Also, apologies for the delay and potential mistakes in this chapter-- my final IB exams are this week, argh!!

The days before the trial were quite possibly the longest and most infuriating days of Remus’ life. He cleaned his flat three times. He bought new tea, the type Sirius liked best, and spent nearly all of his rent money on groceries; he’d worry later about Confunding the landlady into giving him an extension. And then it was time, and Mad Eye had come to fetch him, bringing with him a pair of formal robes from Dumbledore. They’d floo’ed to the ministry and walked to the courtrooms, Remus shaking the entire time. It felt suddenly as though those long days had never happened and he was entirely unprepared to see Sirius again. 

As they took their seats in the gallery, Mad Eye had handed him a flask and Remus had demurred. He sat white-knuckled as Sirius was escorted in and chained to a chair in the middle of the courtroom. He looked completely mad, his hair tangled and his eyes dull, and Remus felt a lurch of fear. But then Sirius looked up and met his eyes and took a deep breath and for a moment he looked completely calm. Grieving, beaten, but brave. Remus smiled weakly, willing Sirius stay calm. 

The Minister for Magic stood, clearing his throat. He was a soothing figure, somehow soft-looking and genial in his green bowler cap and pinstriped robes. “Very well,” he said. “The accused being present, let us begin. Council of Magical Law trial of the twenty-first of November into offences committed under the Decree for the Prohibition of Unforgivable Curses and the International Statute of Secrecy by Sirius Orion Black, resident of,” Fudge looked hastily at his notes, "um... muggle Soho?" He recovered himself quickly, but Remus couldn't help laughing into his fist. Alphard Black passing down his bathhouse-adjacent apartment had been nothing short of phenomenal for Sirius' reputation as disgraced prodigal son. He wondered if Sirius was thinking the same thing, and craned hid neck to try to catch a glimpse of Sirius' face. No such luck.

“Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Marina Dorcass Marks, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Albus Wul—Perc—er”

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Head Mugwump to the Wizengoamot,” said a quiet voice from beside the minister, and Remus saw Sirius swivel around to look at Dumbledore. 

“Yes, yes,” said Fudge quickly. “and Court Secretary Amelia Susan Bones. Sirius Orion Black, do you have anything to add to your testimony before we review the evidence?” 

“Bit difficult to add to my testimony when there wasn’t one to begin with,” said Sirius, and Remus moaned. Mad Eye chuckled and patted him on the back; Fudge looked ruffled. 

“Yes, well, given the state of the country at the time you will now be offered a re-trial. Do you have anything to say?” 

“I’m not guilty,” said Sirius promptly. He seemed to look up at Amelia Bones, with whom they had gone to school, and to Remus’ relief she offered him a small smile. “I’d sooner kill myself than join Lord Voldemort.” A titter of fear swept through the courtroom at the name as Sirius continued. 

“I grew up in absolute hell thanks to all the nonsense about blood purity. I was formally adopted by Euphemia and Fleamont Potter in 1975 when I was disowned by my parents and I joined the Order of the Phoenix in 1977 as soon as I was of age. I was never in contact with any members of my family between the years of 1977 and 1981 part. I loved James Potter like a brother and I would have died for him and Lily.” Sirius took a shaky breath, facing towards Dumbledore. “In December of 1980, when James’ son was only a few months old, Professor Dumbledore told us that Harry was in grave danger and that Lily and James.. that Lily and James would have to go into hiding. James asked me to be secret keeper. I said yes, and Dumbledore set up the Fidelius Charm. We changed at the last minute because we— the Order— thought that there was a spy. We didn’t tell Dumbledore about the switch, but Lily asked to complete the charm and instead of me she made Pete— Peter Pettigrew— secret keeper for the cottage in Godric’s Hallow.”

There was a wave of muttering around the courtroom as many in the gallery stared open-mouthed at Sirius. 

“Is this true?” Fudge asked Dumbledore. Dumbledore stood. 

“I did indeed set the foundation for the Fidelius Charm and offered myself as secret keeper for the Potters. They expressed their wish to make Sirius Black their keeper and I acquiesced, turning the charm work over to Lily Evans Potter.” 

“A twenty-year-old witch, just three years out of Hogwarts?” asked Marina Marks, looking impressed. “Managed to successfully operate and complete the Fidelius Charm?” Remus grinned with pride and then succumbed to the swoop of grief that had been looming at the mention of Lily and James. 

“Yes,” said Dumbledore, quietly. “She was one of the most brilliant witches that Hogwarts has ever seen. The world will never know what her contributions to the theory and practice of charm work could have been if she had lived.” There was a heavy silence at that.

“And she could have changed the secret keeper?” Marks pressed, and Dumbledore replied that she could have done. They turned their attention back to Sirius. 

“Why did Lily and James Potter not accept Albus Dumbledore’s offer of secret keeper?” asked Marks. Remus wished that he could see Sirius’ face. 

“There was too much riding on Dumbledore,” he said, “eggs and baskets and all that. It was war and he was on the front line. They thought it should be me, but then Reg— but then R— then my younger brother began attempting to contact me. We worried that I was too obvious a choice and I was planning on going into hiding. So we chose Peter Pettigrew.” 

“Why did you choose Peter Pettigrew?” asked Fudge, looking bewildered. Sirius turned towards him.

“We trusted him,” he said, flatly. “James, Peter, Remus Lupin, and I were in the same year at Hogwarts. We were all in Gryffindor and we shared a room for seven years. We thought that Pettigrew was safe because he was like family and he wasn’t the obvious pick.” 

“And why not Remus Lupin?” said Marks. Sirius fidgeted. 

“Remus was away,” he said after a moment, “working for Dumbledore. He was in danger a lot. Peter worked at an apothecary outside Shropshire. It seemed the obvious choice.”

Fudge looked mollified, but Marks still looked curious. Dumbledore interrupted. 

“Tell us of the events of the thirty-first October,” he said, and Sirius stiffened. 

“I was going to pop by after Harry went to bed,” he said tonelessly, “James loved Hallowe’en and Lily said he was going stir-crazy. We were going to get pissed and play Emperors. But when I got there it was... wrong. The house was blown up and Hagrid was there and he had Harry and he said that Lily and James,” he swallowed uncomfortably, “and then I asked to take Harry but Hagrid said he was on Dumbledore’s orders so I gave him my bike—“ 

“Your what?” asked Fudge, and Remus realised that he had been holding his breath. He wanted to punch Fudge for interupting. 

“My motorcycle,” said Sirius tiredly, “I’ve got permits and everything, Mrs. Potter insisted. It’s a muggle vehicle. A gift from,” he twisted to look in Remus' direction, “from Hope Lupin.”

Remus felt a twist in his stomach and he gripped the sides of the stone bench, willing himself to stay seated and not run, as every part of his body screamed to do, directly towards Sirius. 

“Anyway,” Sirius continued, “anyway I gave it to Hagrid and he flew off with Harry and I went to go kill Peter Pettigrew and then myself.” Remus froze, feeling the blood drain from his face. “And I would have done, really. When I found him he was pretending we’d never swapped, saying stuff about me… about me murdering…” he swallowed hard, “and I raised my wand and the bastard set off an explosion and I was trying to shield myself when he vanished. And then the aurors arrived and the muggles were,” he shuddered, “in… in bits… and there was so much blood everywhere and I couldn’t think. All I could think was how… how funny it was that it was Peter… that it was Peter all along.” 

There was complete silence in the courtroom and then there was a terrible scream. Marvola Pettigrew had stood and was staring at Sirius in complete fury. “How DARE you!” she screamed, pointing at him, “How DARE you say such things about my.. my son.. my only son..” she was shaking, her once rosy cheeks now grey with spots of red. “You and that half-blood boy always getting him into trouble and dragging him into danger, you killed my Peter and now you have the… the audacity…” 

“Sit down mum,” said Enid, tugging at her mother’s robes. Her face was pale and set. Sirius was straining to look at her, and Remus could see that his gaunt face was wild with anger. 

“Your precious little Peter was weak and mean,” he said harshly, “he killed my family and I don’t even know why but I think your opinion on Remus’ blood status gives me a little more clarity.” Mrs. Pettigrew sat with a thud; it looked as though Enid had Confunded her. 

Dumbledore stood then, with a warning look at Sirius. “As Head Mugwump I would like to call Alastair Moody to the stand to give testimony."

Beside Remus, Mad Eye stood and shuffled his way down to stand beside Sirius. Sirius looked at him with a broad grin. 

“Your name and occupation?” said Fudge, and there were titters throughout the courtroom. 

“Alastair Moody, Head of the Auror Office,” he said stoutly, and Remus felt hope rise up inside of him like Phoenix song. 

“And your connection to the case?” Fudge continued, and Mad Eye jerked his head towards Sirius. 

“Trained this lad for two years and worked with him for one. I know dark wizards, Minister, and Sirius Black is not one. I did some sniffing around with Remus Lupin after the arrest—“ 

“Remus Lupin is coming up rather a lot,” interrupted Marks. “Is he present in the court today?” Remus stood, almost without thinking, and felt immediately very awkward. 

“I am,” he said, and felt the courtroom turn to stare at him eyes. Marks nodded.

“Will you be testifying later?” she asked, her eyes piercing. Remus swallowed. 

“Er, yes,” he said, “yes I could.” 

“Good,” she said sharply, and turned back to look at Mad Eye. “Go on.” 

“Right,” he said, “so Lupin told me that Pettigrew was an unregistered animegus.” 

If an erumpent had stuck its horn into the middle of the courtroom floor no one would have noticed over the cacophony that broke out at Mad Eye's statement. The sound in the courtroom was completely deafening, shouts and gasps echoing and rebounding around the stone amphitheatre. Fudge was gaping like a fish and Amelia seemed to have fallen out of her chair. 

Finally Dumbledore stood, his wand pressed to his throat. “SILENCE”, he boomed, and the room became still, as though the air had been sucked out of the courtroom along with the sound. He gestured to Mad Eye. “Continue.” 

“Really ought to be Lupin who explains that bit,” said Mad Eye gruffly, and Remus buried his face in his hands. 

“Bugger,” he muttered, “bugger, bugger, bugger.” The witch next to him scooted away slightly. 

“Anyhow, we figured he’d be at Hogwarts and set up a search perimeter,” Mad Eye was saying. All Remus registered was that Mad Eye had not mentioned the map. His head was thick with anxiety. What would he say? How would he explain? How much trouble would he be in by the end of this? _It would be fitting, _he thought, _to get Sirius released only to end up in Azkaban himself.___

_____ _

_____ _

“The Council of Magical Law calls Remus Lupin to the stand,” boomed Fudge, making Remus jump. He nervously smoothed his hands over his borrowed robes and stood, walking slowly down the stone steps. Every eye in the court— including Sirius’— followed his descent. 

“Name, residence, and occupation?” asked Fudge, peering over the dais at him expectantly. Remus swallowed. 

“Er, Remus John Lupin, North Finchley, London,” he said, not looking at Sirius. 

“Yes, we have you registered,” said Fudge, peering at a long scroll he had just been handed. “here, Remus John Lupin, son of Lyall Lupin and a muggle Hope Jenkins and… good lord!” Fudge stared at him in shock and Remus cringed. 

“You’re..” said Fudge wildly, “most irregular most irregular…” Dumbledore put a hand on Fudge’s shoulder and stood calmly, smiling gently at Remus.

“You are, as I believe the Minister is trying to say, a registered werewolf,” he said. As Remus heard himself reply an affirmative, the courtroom seemed to explode. 

……….

The rest of the trial was a blur of questions and accusations. Dumbledore testified twice, once to confirm that he had been aware of Remus’ status when he had offered him a place at Hogwarts and again to confess that he had not known about their teenage animagery or that Lily had changed secret-keepers. By the end of the trial it was announced that Peter Pettigrew’s hearing was scheduled for the next week, that Sirius Black would be pardoned of all charges, and that he would be released effective immediately with the ministry’s sincerest apologies. The dementors were banished, Sirius unchained, his wand returned, and the clothing he had worn on the night of the Potter’s murder fiercely refused. Remus had hovered nervously through the entire process; when he reached Sirius at last he pulled him into a tight, wordless embrace. 

“Ah, don’t be such a girl Moony,” Sirius had mumbled into his shoulder, “m’okay. M’okay. Where’s Harry?”

……….

“Where’s Harry?” Sirius asked Mad Eye as they walked towards the fireplaces in the main hall of the ministry. 

“Where’s Harry?” Sirius asked around a mouthful of steak-and-kidney pie at the Leaky Cauldron. 

“Where’s Harry?” Sirius greeted McGonagall as she pulled him into a white-faced hug. 

“Where’s Harry?” Sirius demanded as the door to Dumbledore’s office swung open. Dumbledore smiled at him crookedly, the bent bastard.

“All in good time, Sirius,” he said mildly. This was not an advisable answer. 

“All in good time,” said Sirius dangerously, “like how long it was going to take you to get me out of Azkaban?” 

“My dear man,” Dumbledore began, but Sirius cut him off. 

“Save it,” he said, his voice cold and hard. “You used up all your Wizengamot connections to protect that greasy slimy death eating traitor, and I don’t care what he told you, Professor, but I grew up around enough dark wizards to know one when I see one.” Dumbledore’s mild expression turned to one of gentle remorse. 

“For that, Sirius, I am truly sorry.” 

“I don’t care,” Sirius said, “where’s Harry.” 

Dumbledore just looked at him with his icy, inscrutable eyes. Remus coughed quietly. 

“Albus,” he said calmly, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be in the Headmaster’s office, calling Dumbledore by his name, “I think you’ll find that Sirius is, in fact, Harry’s legal guardian.” 

Dumbledore just continued to gaze passively at Sirius, who jabbed a finger towards Remus. “He’s right! It was in the will, I’m his godfather,” he said with a terrible grin of barely-contained fury.

“Harry is not a parcel,” said Dumbledore lightly, “and he is not a consolation for the loss of James.” Sirius reeled as though Dumbledore had struck him, thrusting his hand into his robes for his wand. Remus grabbed his arm without thinking, and Sirius pulled himself together.

“Right,” he said, his voice even but dangerous, “allow me to rephrase. I am not asking what you have done with my godson. I am not asking where you took him, unlawfully, before I was taken to Azkaban. I am not asking where he has been these past few months." 

“No?” asked Dumbledore, and Remus braced himself. Sirius’ eyes were feral, canine. 

“I am demanding, as _paterfamilias _of the House of Black that you tell me what you have done with my ward and heir.”__

____

____

McGonagall choked; Dumbledore looked mildly impressed. “I was unaware that you were still a part of that illustrious family,” he said. Sirius’ horrible grin widened. 

“Turns out that my dear old mum kicked it last week,” he said conversationally, “and she was so impressed by the thought that I murdered twelve muggles and a blood traitor that she wrote me back into the will. Convenient she didn’t live to see me released. Where’s Harry.” 

Remus almost smiled. _Dogged persistence _, James would have called it.__

____

____

Dumbledore looked at McGonagall, who looked at Remus, who leaned against the wall, putting his hands in his pockets. “Where is he, Albus,” he said evenly. _I’m not taking your side, _he thought, _not after what you did to us. _McGonagall sighed.____

_____ _

_____ _

“It is their right, Albus,” she said calmly, “I’ve read the will myself, you’ll have to explain at the very least. Dumbledore opened his mouth as though to argue and then shut it, nodding. 

“I believe it is best that the boy is kept away from the fame he has acquired since his meeting with Lord Voldemort,” he began, and Remus felt his stomach churn. _He wouldn't have, _he thought fretfully. Sirius did not seem to have made the same conclusion: he just looked confused.__

____

____

“…thus he has been placed in the care of his aunt and uncle,” Dumbledore finished, looking satisfied. Remus fixed his eyes on Sirius, who was goggling at the old professor. 

“You mean PETUNIA EVANS?” he said, incredulous. Dumbledore smiled pleasantly.

“Now Dursley, I believe,” he replied. Sirius continued to stare. 

“That ruddy great muggle with the drills?” he asked, and Dumbledore raised his eyebrows high above his half-moon spectacles. 

“Surely you aren’t prejudiced, Mr. Black,” he said lightly. Remus again grabbed Sirius before he could pull out his wand. 

“What he means is,” said Remus, ignoring Sirius’ derisive snort, “that um. Harry’s probably traumatised and needs a more… familiar setting… than his aunt and uncle’s house. I mean,” he bit his lip, trying not to think of of James’ description of Vernon Dursley’s walrus moustache and nonexistent neck, “they were never… overly fond of Lily and James and… if Harry shows signs of magic…” 

“IF?!” squawked Sirius, and Remus petted his arm distractedly. 

“……If he shows signs they are, well, less equipped than Sirius and I would be,” he said before realising that he had just invited himself into the Sirius-and-Harry family. He looked at Sirius worriedly, but Sirius just nodded imperiously. 

“Exactly,” he said, “and honestly bugger all wizards ever, I’m sick of the wizarding world. We’ll take him to the countryside, he never needs to know he’s famous.” 

“Yeah,” said Remus, heart swelling at the idea of the three of them in the countryside, away from the prejudice of the wizarding world. “Yeah, it’s what Lily would have wanted.” 

“And James!” Sirius interjected, and Remus saw McGonagall’s lips thin as she no doubt rapidly lost confidence in the both of them. 

“I am sure,” said Dumbledore kindly, “that the Potters would have liked nothing better than for the two of you to watch over Harry. Given the circumstances, however, his aunt’s house is almost certainly the safest place for him.” 

“Be that as it may,” said McGonagall sharply, and Remus’ gaze whipped back to her in confusion. She seemed to be supporting them: why? 

“…I myself can see no reason that now Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin are available for guardianship that Harry should not go into their custody. Certainly it is what his parents would have preferred,” she gave Dumbledore a very stern look that Remus knew all too well. He felt momentarily sorry for the Headmaster as she continued, “..and if there is another reason for him to be at his aunt and uncle’s house, Albus, I believe we should all be, as they say, up to date.” 

Sirius’ expression was strangely inscrutable: Remus, who had known him for half of his life, could not read the pallid mask that had settled over his sunken features. This worried him, but it was a problem for another time. 

“I’m listening,” Sirius said flatly, and Dumbledore nodded in resignation. 

“I believe,” he said quietly, as though speaking to someone very very ill, “that through her death, Lily Evans Potter created a blood-protection charm. Very archaic magic, the likes of which I am sure Lord Voldemort had never even thought to consider.” 

“Okay, so that’s how he survived,” interrupted Sirius, who looked as queasy as Remus felt at the mention of Lily's death “but you can’t tie blood magic to a muggle, they’ve got,” he flapped his hand as though looking for an inoffensive way to put it, “non-magical blood, right?” 

Dumbledore raised a single eyebrow. “Luckily for us, Mr. Black,” he said lightly, “Lily’s protection lives on successfully in the blood that she and her sister share. As such…” 

“The safest place is with Petunia,” Remus finished, dully. Sirius, bless him, looked more mulish than ever. 

“So Voldemort’s not dead, then” he said, his voice rough and fierce. Remus thought back to Godric’s Hallow, the scorch marks around the crib, the stench of dark magic thick and noxious as rotten eggs. _No, _he thought heavily, _not dead. _____

_____ _

_____ _

He looked at Dumbledore who looked more old and tired than Remus had seen him even in wartime. “I do not think so, no,” he replied. Sirius gave a tight nod. 

“And the death eaters that remain free?” asked Remus, and Dumbledore inclined his head towards Remus with a slight nod. 

“Yes,” he said, “yes, those as well.” 

“Including old Snivilly of course,” Sirius said, without a trace of humour. Remus elbowed him, feeling that perhaps the time for gentle coaxing was at its end. 

“Albus, I think we all agree that Harry should remain within the protection of his aunt and uncle,” he said calmly, and Sirius rounded on him looking mutinous, “…as long as such remains the safest option. But we must insist on seeing him. We need to be a part of his life.”

Sirius nodded, and as Remus looked down at Dumbledore, matching his piercing gaze with what he felt was a bold, impassive expression, Remus Lupin felt calm and authoritative for the first time in years. McGonagall was giving him a very strange look, her lips pursed but her eyes sparkling. He smiled uncertainly at her (breaking, perhaps, the effect of his stare) and she inclined her head slightly in a mannerism more cat than human. Sirius seemed to get the point— he’d always been good with cats which Remus thought was somewhat unfair— and he took a seat across from Dumbledore’s desk. 

“Where do we start,” he asked, and Remus sat beside him before a resigned looking Dumbledore.

“If you insist upon setting eyes on him yourself,” Dumbledore replied, a hint of mischief beginning to sparkle in his sharp blue eyes, “I believe you will require a, erm, change of character.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HE GOT OFF! HE GOT OFF! HE GOT OFF! But not with Remus. Yet. Check out The Sacred 28 for some context on coming chapters.....


	9. Number Five Privet Drive (December 1981 - March 1982)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first bit is STOLEN i.e. adapted liberally from the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone for dramatic effect. For the etymology of Moony and Padfoot’s sexy new role-playing names (kidding, kidding) check end notes.

All the inhabitants of Privet Drive agreed that Mr. Canis and Mr. Theiss of number five, were very odd indeed. They were the last sort of people you’d expect to live there; it was, as their neighbours complained, supposed to be a respectable neighbourhood for families. The decent kind of families, that is.

Mr. Canis was some sort of lay-about who spent his days in the front garden, tinkering with an antique motorbike. He was a slim, elegant man with long black hair and high, aquiline features, handsome in a queer sort of way. Mr. Theiss was thin, sickly, and bookish. His auburn hair was shaggy and greying slightly, despite the fact that neither he nor Mr. Canis looked a day older than thirty. The two had no children, only a large black dog that came and went as it pleased without a lead.

Mr. Canis and Mr. Theiss had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They knew there would be trouble if anyone found out that the real reason they lived in Privet Drive was to look after Harry Potter. 

Harry Potter was Mr. and Mrs. Dursley’s nephew, a sweet-faced and clever child who had a knack for getting himself into trouble despite the fact that he was not yet two years old. He had appeared on the doorstep of number four Privet Drive only months before Mr. Canis and Mr. Theiss had moved into number five, and had caused quite a fuss ever since.

When Mr. Canis and Mrs. Theiss woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that this day would be any different from the past hundred some that they had spent covertly watching the house next door. Mr. Canis hummed as he picked out his least oil-stained pair of dungarees for tinkering, and Mr. Theiss began to scramble some eggs on the hob as the kettle boiled water for tea.

Neither of them payed much mind to the large, tawny owl that fluttered past the window, dropping a newspaper on the windowsill and collecting a few odd bronze coins from the flowerpot. Mr. Canis, once dressed, went to fetch the paper.

At half past nine, Mr. Canis picked up a long, slim tool of some sort, stole a bite of eggs from Mr. Theiss, and tried in vain to also filch a slice of toast (which promptly flew out of his reach to perch, most un-toast-like, atop the cupboard). 

“Rude, Moony, letting a man starve” grumbled Mr. Canis, who seemed unconcerned with the strange behaviour of Mr. Theiss’ toast. He strode out of the front door, sparing a glance in the window of number four. Inside, the Dursley’s son sat yelling in his high chair as his tall, blonde mother fussed around him. There was no sign of Harry Potter, to his great frustration, so Mr. Canis got onto his motorbike and, tucking the tool into his leather combat boots, he clipped his helmet and the bike roared to life.

He was zooming around the corner out of the suburb towards London when he noticed the first sign of something peculiar— aside from the toast, which was not inordinately peculiar in Mr. Canis’ opinion. There, under the sign for Privet Drive, was a cat reading a newspaper. For a second, Mr. Canis didn’t register what he had seen—then he jerked his head around to look again, nearly driving his motorbike into oncoming traffic. There was still a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn’t a paper in sight. Suspiciously familiar cat, too. Mr. Canis grinned at the cat. It stared back disapprovingly. As Mr. Canis merged onto the road, swerving between morning commuters, he thought about the cat in his mirror. It had seemed to have been reading the sign— no, looking at the sign, as cats couldn’t read newspapers or signs. Unless it wasn’t a cat, but that was wishful thinking. Mr. Canis gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of chocolate he was picking up for Mr. Theiss in anticipation of the upcoming full. 

….. 

Lycaon Theiss, né Remus Lupin, was not a loafer thank you very much. Of course, with his condition, he didn’t have much in the way of luck with work. It had been a relief to move in with Sirius after the trial because he no longer had to worry about choosing rent over groceries or wolfsbane, but he found himself feeling decidedly uncomfortable that all he seemed to be doing these days was sit around and take Padfoot for innumerable walks so that they could “accidentally” pass by Harry at the park. Still, no matter how many times Sirius spoke about brotherhood and sharing and Stop Being A Wet Blanket Moony I Didn’t Earn This Money Either It Was Just Given To Me So Let Me Pay For Things, Remus was distinctly aware that he had less in his Gringotts vault than Sirius had lying around in the pockets of his dirty trousers.

Lupins— Theiss? Theisses?— did not live off of charity. He’d done his best at first, starting with jobs waiting tables from which he sacked regularly for his limited availability and general sickliness. He’d worked for about a month at a bookstore in town, a job he was quite good at and which he really liked but had to leave because it took him too much away from watching Sirius. Sirius-watching, though thoroughly unpaid unless Remus was counting room and board, was a full time job. It meant quite a lot of sympathetic listening to long-winded rants and never being able to finish his sandwiches before they were stolen or transfigured and it meant listening to more Led Zeppelin and The Petshop Boys than really anyone should have to listen to. He had tried to hint to Sirius that he might be happier if they both had jobs, but Sirius had just laughed him off. 

“Honestly Moony, I may have gotten top marks in muggle studies but that doesn’t mean I want to spend my days pretending I can’t just wave a wand and be done with whatever things muggles spend all day doing,” he had said, and that was that.

And then, during one of his sulks, Sirius had said something inspired. 

“I’d kill for a boggart,” he’d said, sprawling himself on the kitchen floor and glaring at the ceiling, “anything to get me out of this stupid house. I’d wrestle an erumpent. 

“Please don’t” said Remus mildly as he did the evening crossword. “What’s a six letter word for a potions panacea?” 

“I’d wrestle two erumpents,” said Sirius, ignoring him. Remus shook his head. 

“Too long. Bezoar, I think.” 

“We could take ‘em,” he said, “you and me, we’re good at defence.” 

“You and I,” corrected Remus automatically, as he tapped the pencil thoughtfully against his temple. “Sirius, you like Quidditch, what’s another name for a Snitch?” 

“Snidget,” said Sirius tonelessly. “I’d kill for a game of Quidditch.” 

“This is why you were mistaken for a notorious mass-murderer,” Remus replied. Sirius scowled and continued to stare at the ceiling. Remus, however, looked up from his crossword with a sudden spark of inspiration. 

“What did you say about defence?” 

“You and _I, _Moony, you and _I _were always good at it,” said Sirius, frustrated, “grammar isn’t everything, you know, and I’m just as well rea—“____

_____ _

____

“Wait,” said Remus, holding up a hand. Sirius pushed himself curiously up onto his elbows. 

“What?” he asked, but Remus shushed him. 

“We are really good at defence, actually,” he said slowly. “Remember the Boggart?” 

“Seventh year,” said Sirius immediately, “creepy death eating scum, releasing it like that at Hall.… at the Feast” 

“Yeah, but we got it didn’t we? Professor McGonagall said it was the fastest Boggart removal she’d ever seen,” he pressed, “and the grindylows? Remember how we got them to peep on the Slytherin dorms?” 

“Kettleburn gave us detention but you could tell he was impressed,” said Sirius with a grin. 

“Exactly,” Remus said, crossword forgotten, “and Ja— and we even managed to charm that kniffler into only stealing green and silver things, Flitwick himself said that should have been impossible,” Remus added, delighted in the turn of Sirius’ mood. “I mean, we could always do a bit of freelance.” 

Sirius stared at him. “But, we’re not supposed to do stuff in the wizarding world,” he said slowly, “Dumbledore’ll sack us from Potter watching.” Remus grinned sneakily, feeling lighter and more carefree than he had since leaving Hogwarts. Subterfuge during war rarely felt this fun, but a bit of excitement that would earn them a few galleons and get them out of Privet Bloody Drive… it felt like something the Marauders would have done.

“Remus Lupin and Sirius Black aren’t supposed to be out and about, no,” he said, “but Lycaon Theiss and Stygian Canis, on the other hand…”

Sirius was upright now, grinning in a way that Remus hadn’t seen since James and Lily had died. 

“Oh Mr. Theiss,” he said, wickedly, his voice going directly to settle hotly in the pit of Remus’ stomach “you aren’t suggesting…”

“Ah, Mr. Canis, but I am,” he replied, pulling himself together. “Freelance means it wouldn’t interfere with the moon, we could always take shifts, put an ad out in the Prophet. I mean, shockingly few wizards and witches know how to handle dark things.” 

“Probably because no one’s gotten a proper Defence class in half a century,” Sirius replied. Remus spent a fond moment thinking of their various and sundry terrible Defence teachers. 

“Wonder why no one’s broken that curse yet,” he said mildly, and Sirius flapped his hand in dismissal. 

“We’ll get to it once we’re famous wands for hire,” he said confidently, and stuck his hand out in mock solemnity. “Canis and Theiss, magical pest control and freelance curse breakers,” he said in his plummiest pureblood accent. Remus grinned. 

“Theiss and Canis,” he replied in kind, taking the hand and shaking it firmly, “though we don’t know anything about curse breaking.” Sirius indicated his head towards the walls of books that lined their front parlour. 

“Canis and Theiss,” he said, “and we have nothing but time.”

….. 

And so began the second phase of Mr. Canis and Mr. Theiss’ time as residents of Privet Drive. The neighbours complained at the ever-growing strangeness of their garden, in which Mr. Theiss had taken to planting strange herbs and building hutches for even-stranger behaving rabbits. Mrs. Dursley, whose unnaturally long neck was forever stretched through the window that looked out onto the house next door, remarked nastily to her husband that the lights in their parlour were always on and the windows always drawn, as though they were practicing something disgusting or illegal late into the night. When they left the house, Mr. Canis on his motorbike and Mr. Theiss looking distinctly nauseous on the seat behind him, they’d come back ruffled and wild-eyed, often with another rabbit strapped into the sidecar they’d taken to attaching to the bike before such excursions.The cat which Mr. Canis had noticed only weeks before, with its spectacle markings and odd penchant for staring at newspapers, appeared more and more frequently on the fence between the two houses. 

One evening, as Theiss lay recuperating on the couch with a steaming goblet of potion beside him on the coffee table, Canis walked out to the cat and whistled to her. She turned, and glared disdainfully. 

“Fancy a saucer of milk, Professor?” he asked, grinning. The cat stretched with great dignity, taking a moment to gouge the fence post with her claws (“Rude,” Canis remarked in amusement) before following him inside. 

The hearth was crackling with an innocuous-looking fire and the front parlour was cozy if cluttered with parchments and books in piles across the floor. “Sirius, no,” grumbled Remus from his tragic position on the couch, “no cats, I’ve told you, they hate me…” he startled as the cat transformed, growing quickly into a tall, dark-haired woman with severe eyes and thin lips. 

“Pr-proffessor,” he said, “er, what are you doing here.” Minerva McGonagall sighed. 

“Very subtle, Mr…”

“Stygian Canis at your service,” interrupted Sirius, “and this is my partner, Lycaon Theiss.” 

McGonagall frowned. “Could you have been more obvious about the names, Mr. Canis” she said reprovingly. Sirius grinned

“I was all for Trivial White,” he said, “but Dumbledore thought Canis had a better ring to it. No need to stand on ceremony, Minnie, call me Styg. What’s a nice witch like you doing in a place like this?” 

For a moment, before remembering that he was twenty-three and six years out of Hogwarts, Remus expected her to give them both detention. Then she sighed, taking a seat on the overstuffed armchair near the electric fireplace.

“You know, Arabella Figg was doing a fine job before you two arrived,” she said. Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“And a squib would have been able to protect him from Death Eaters how, exactly, McGoogles?” he asked. Professor McGonagall glared at him. 

“If you insist upon calling me something other than Professor— as is well within your rights as a graduate of Hogwarts school— I must request you call me Minerva.” Remus blanched. 

“Righto, Mins,” said Sirius breezily, “anyway it’s within my rights, blah blah blah, and Remus— Lycaon— and I are well equipped to care for Harry.” 

“And your recent excursions?” she asked. Remus pushed himself into a seated position, swaying slightly. 

“I mean we’re not technically breaking any of Dumbledore’s rules, we use glamours and our new names, and we’ve got all sorts of alarms in place so first moment  
something magical gets within a kilometre of the house we’ll know,” he said, using his best Prefect voice. Her lips thinned, but Remus knew she was impressed.

“That’s how you found me?” she asked. Sirius laughed. 

“You’ve been around for ages Professor, we only put them up when we started working. The three of us are protected from triggering the alarm. You really haven’t been subtle, Minervescent.” 

“Regardless,” she said, ignoring his last, “it has behooved me to take the occasional watch.” 

“We appreciate it,” said Remus, quickly. “Tea?” 

“Please,” she replied, and Remus got up shakily to close the curtains before flicking his wand towards the kettle. 

“I must admit,” said Minerva, her voice low, “I’m not altogether impressed with the arrangement.” Remus turned in time to see Sirius bristle and Minerva hold up a hand to silence him. “They’re not very pleasant people, these muggles.” Remus returned with mugs of tea, a hard expression on his face. 

“I’ve owled Albus a million times,” he said darkly, “there’s something not right about them.” Sirius looked up in bewilderment. 

“Well sure,” he said, “they’re abominably boring, poor tyke, but other than being stupid and muggle-ish…” he stopped at the look of shock on Remus’ face. 

“What?” asked Sirius, defensively, “okay, sorry, you know I love muggles I took Muggle Studies at OWL and NEWT level, I just mean,” Remus shook his head at Sirius in wonderment. 

“You haven’t noticed?” he asked, feeling somewhat faint.

“It’s not like anything seems wrong other than the fact that we’d’ve done better,” Sirius continued, “I mean he’s not fat and spoilt as the other kid, thank Merlin.” Minerva’s lips pursed.

“He’s too thin,” said Remus darkly, and Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t be such a mum, so was James, they’re a weedy bunch, the Potters,” he argued. “I watch him too, I’d know if there was something funny going on! I’m his godfather.” 

Remus looked at him aghast. “Sirius, two-year-olds are never supposed to be that small.” 

“Or quiet,” said Minerva to Remus’ surprise, “and obedient.” 

“Depends on the kid,” Sirius argued, “Regulus was.” 

The house fell silent at the name, and Sirius looked away. He began to clear up some of the books and kicked a bit of parchment into the fire. 

“Yes,” said Remus softly, “but your house wasn’t a very safe place to be a child either, Padfoot.” 

Sirius tensed. “I’d know,” he said, stubbornly, “I’d know if he was in danger, muggles don’t have the same stuff wizards do, they can’t hex him or..” he fell silent, his shoulders hunched protectively and his eyes dark as charcoal. 

“They can still hurt him,” Remus said softly, “I mean, there’s already neglect, they favour Dudley.” 

“All parents have favourites,” Sirius said mulishly. “besides, I’d hate him to love those muggles, to see bloody Petunia Dursley snuggling up with James Potter’s son in that revolting way she does with the little pig.” 

Remus was beginning to go very red in the face. “Sirius, for one thing do not talk about the Dursley child like that, he’s only two,” he said hotly, “and for another I, personally, would much rather see him loved even if I am not allowed to love him.” Sirius jumped to his feet, pulling out his wand. 

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, “tell me how I feel about my godson. He’s mine, he’s not yours..” 

Remus set down his tea with a clatter. “HE’S NOT YOURS!” he said fiercely, “Merlin’s balls, Sirius, he’s not James, he’s a baby and he’s our responsibility!” Sirius paled, staring between Minerva and Remus. He sat down on the floor with a thud and bowed his head in thought. Remus felt a bit as though he was going to throw up; it was the first time he had acknowledged his discomfort with the situation. Of course he had told Dumbledore but Dumbledore had always stressed the need for safety above all else and if Sirius could bear it then surely….

“Why didn't you say,” Sirius whispered from behind his hands, “what have we done, it’s been nearly half a year.” 

Remus felt a wave of panic. “I thought you knew,” he said desperately, “I thought we’d come to the same conclusion, that it was better for him in the long run, that he was clothed and reasonably well-fed but above all _safe _.”__

____

____

Sirius looked as though he’d been hit in the chest with a bludger. 

“James and Lily’s son,” he whispered, “abused, under our noses. Oh buggering Circe they’d never forgive us.” Remus stood and strode to the window, throwing it open and peering into the driveway. Dursley’s car was out but he could see Petunia through the window. A sort of giddy fear coursed through him and he turned to look at Sirius

“It’s not too late,” he said abruptly, and Sirius’ eyes snapped up to meet his own. Minerva stood. 

“Mr. Canis, Mr. Theiss,” she said sharply, “you can’t mean…” 

“Don’t stop us, Min,” Sirius replied, his eyes still fixed on Remus. He stood and strode to the door, twirling his wand with the same frenetic energy that Remus felt. Remus downed his potion, grimaced, and went to join him.

“I won’t stop you,” Minerva said, her voice several octaves higher than normal “but there’s no use avoiding the logistics I’ll have to fetch Albus, I’m afraid.” Remus nodded. 

“Give us a head start?” he asked. She smiled. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Theiss,” she said, winking, “though the next apparition spot is eight blocks away… and there’s a safer one a bit further on.” Her eyes sparkled. “Shall we say you have an hour?” 

Sirius was basically vibrating with energy, his eyes gleaming with excitement and anger. If Remus hadn’t been so angry and excited himself he would have thought that the look of thunder on Sirius’ face did not bode well— but he refused to consider the fallout. Finally, things would be as they should have been nearly two years ago: Remus, Sirius, and Harry. A family.

“Much obliged, McG,” Sirius said, clapping Remus on the shoulder and breaking his reverie. “Let’s go steal Harry Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stygian: very dark black, as in the colour of the River Styx, Canis: dog, Lycaon: creepy berk who got himself turned into a werewolf by feeding his roasted son to Zeus, Theiss: a Livonian man who claimed he was the “hound of god” aka a werewolf who battled the Devil and his witches. Cool guy, total nutter, burned at the stake. Wolf Wolf becomes Werewolf Werewolf. Sorry, Remus.


	10. Stealing Harry (March 1982)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Messers Moony Padfoot and Prongslet present: this self-indulgent shit show. Anyone else get like. Really fucking sad about James and Lily on Halloween?

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin strode quickly across their front garden, exited through the fence, walked less than two steps to the right, and then turned, opened the gate, and stalked up to the door of number four, Privet Drive. 

Remus, in a sort of nervous excitement, had the sudden urge to laugh at what was certainly a strange sight: Sirius in his dungarees, himself in pyjamas, wands drawn in the middle of Little Whinging. Definitely breaking the rules. 

Sirius began to hammer on the door, only ceasing when it was opened by a harassed looking Petunia Dursley. They stood, face to face, Sirius glaring, Petunia gaping. She gave a little shriek of fright when she saw Remus behind him, pointing his wand. 

“Let us in,” said Remus evenly, “now.” 

Petunia, as though quite mad, took off running, grabbed Dudley out of his playpen, and dashed up the stairs clutching the shrieking baby. Sirius blinked after her. Within a moment, a cry of alarm came from behind the telly to join Dudley’s angry screams. 

“Harry?” said Sirius, looking around desperately, “Harry? Are you here?” 

“It’s okay, pumpkin,” Remus said softly, and then blushed at the odd look Sirius was giving him. He got down stiffly onto his hands and knees and crawled beside the television, reaching a hand under it slightly as though trying to coax out a stray dog. “It’s okay, I’m Moony, I’m a friend of your mummy’s. I’m here to take you home.” 

Harry peered out at him shyly and said nothing. Remus tried again.

“Would you like to come home with me and Uncle Padfoot?” he asked, and Harry cocked his head curiously.

_Bugger, _he thought, _should I just pick him up? _But he had a horrible sense that he’d do better to earn Harry’s trust first. He had the same kicked-dog look that Remus remembered seeing on little Regulus Black when the Black family had come to pick Sirius up at Christmas in first year. He held out a hand close enough or Harry to touch if he chose and smiled encouragingly. Harry looked up at him with Lily’s wide green eyes, and then peered past him, nervously.____

_____ _

____

“Nice doggy?” he whispered. Remus sighed at the massive shaggy black dog. Sirius was never terribly adept at dealing with human emotions. 

“Very nice doggy,” he said, grudgingly. Padfoot wagged his tail. “Come here, Harry, do you want to pet him?” 

Harry shook his head, but crawled slowly out from behind the television. His eyes remained fixed on Padfoot as he approached Remus and pulled himself up to stand, clinging to Remus’ arm. Remus, hardly daring to breathe, tried to stay as still and quiet as possible so as not to scare him. And then Padfoot whined and startled Harry who gave a little yelp and turned immediately to Remus for comfort. Remus instinctively wrapped an arm around him and then, unable to resist, buried his face into Harry’s wild black hair.

He smelled achingly familiar: the same soapy, milky scent he’d had the last time Remus had held him over a year ago in Lily and James’ house. Any trace of regret or doubt Remus had left over their rash decision vanished in an instant, and Remus pulled Harry even closer. Harry froze a little, and then relaxed, burrowing his little face into Remus’ shirt and allowed Remus to rock him slightly as he’d seen James and Sirius do in Godric’s Hollow. _Safe _, he thought tremulously, _oh thank Merlin, thank God, thank everything, he’s safe. _He realised that this was the first time in a very long time that he, Remus Lupin, had also felt safe. The two people who mattered most to him in the world were beside him now; no matter what came for them, he would be there to protect them. There was something significant about that. It made him feel in control. _Safe _. He let out a long, shaky breath.______

_____ _

_____ _

Padfoot whined, the impatient bugger, demanding attention. Both Harry and Remus looked at him, Harry’s eyes once again bright with interest. Remus did his best to pull himself together. 

“Nice doggy?” Harry said again, and Remus reached out a hand to gently stroke the side of Padfoot’s neck. Padfoot panted appreciatively, and Harry stuck out a hesitant hand as well, giving Padfoot a rough tap. 

“Gently,” said Remus automatically, remembering the way Harry had pulled at the Potter’s cat as a baby. But this Harry was much more hesitant, much more afraid. Remus smiled at him reassuringly. “This is Padfoot.”

“Pafoot,” Harry said solemnly, letting go of Remus and squatting beside Padfoot to pet him. The dog winked at Remus, who realised he needed to think fast before Sirius traumatised Harry by transforming. 

“Harry,” he said quickly, keeping his voice as even as he could, “Padfoot is my best friend and a magic dog. Do you want him to do magic?” 

Harry looked a little frightened. He took Remus’ hand again, but nodded bravely. Sirius morphed back into himself, and the two sat looking at each other in wary silence. 

“Hullo Harry,” Sirius said, gruffly. Harry drew slightly closer to Remus, “I’m your dogfather. I love you so much.” 

“Okay,” said Harry, looking a bit overwhelmed. Sirius looked up at Remus in a slight panic, and Remus gave him a watery, encouraging smile. 

“Gently, Pads,” he advised softly, stroking Harry’s hair from his forehead. The scar nearly gave him pause, but he pushed aside his revulsion. There was nothing to be done about it now. 

“Do you want to see more magic?” Sirius asked nervously, and Harry nodded. Sirius, picking up his wand from where he’d set it on the floor, whispered _lux _. A shower of multicoloured sparks burst from the tip, falling to dance around his head. Harry gave a little shriek of delight and clung to Remus’ pyjama shirt with one hand, his eyes fixed eagerly on Sirius.__

____

____

“Again!” he demanded, and Sirius sent a small storm of bubbles to pop and bounce around the child. The two continued to play, entranced with each other, until Sirius was unable to stand it any longer. He threw down his wand and snatched up Harry, who shrieked with laughter and hugged him tightly. 

“Hey, Snidget,” Sirius mumbled into the little boy’s hair, “hey Harry, I’ve missed you, I’ve really missed you, I can’t believe I didn’t come sooner, you’re safe now, you’re safe.” Remus, eyes suddenly filling, crawled over to where the two embraced and put a hand on Harry’s back, needing to touch him, to feel he was real, solid. For a moment it was just the three of them, Sirius and Remus and Harry. Safe. 

A sharp creak of her foot on the first step awoke Remus from the reverie with which he was stroking Harry. He looked up to see Petunia Dursley at the landing glaring at them and clutching a heavy cricket bat. Harry, following his gaze, gave a whimper of fear at the sight of his aunt. 

“Get out of my house,” she said, voice quavering. Sirius calmly Vanished the bat and though she shrieked, this time Petunia held her ground. Dudley, out of sight, began to scream again and Harry thrust his face into Remus’ neck. 

“It’s alright,” he said to Harry, his eyes still fixed on Petunia. For the first time since he had arrived on Privet Drive, he fully appreciated that she was Lily Evans’ sister. As she stood, thin and shaking at the top of the stairs in front of the room where she had put her son, Remus Lupin saw again the outline of Lily’s body on the floor before Harry’s intact crib. He took a short, sharp breath and then lowered his wand. 

“Don’t bother,” he said to Petunia, “we won’t hurt you though Merlin _knows _you deserve it for treating a child with such cruelty and neglect. We’re taking him home. You needn’t follow.”__

____

____

Sirius, whose wand was still raised, gave Remus a peculiar look. Remus frowned at him meaningfully and adjusted Harry’s weight onto his less painful hip and walked towards the door, praying that Sirius would just follow.

Of course it couldn’t be so easy. As he turned the door handle there was a low grumble signifying the return of Vernon Dursley and his car. 

“Bugger,” he muttered, and Harry looked stricken. He trembled, burrowing deeper into Remus’ chest. 

“Petunia,” boomed a voice from just outside, “help me with the door won’t you, the plans are ruddy impossible.” Silently, Remus raised his wand and the door clicked open to reveal a stout blond man with a mountain of rolled paper in his arms. The two stared at each other, Vernon Dursley’s piggy eyes fixed on Remus’ wand and at the boy in his arms.  
“Finally come for him, have you,” Dursley snorted, though his large moustache was twitching nervously. 

“Er,” he said weakly, “yes, um, we’ve come for him.” 

“Point that ruddy thing somewhere else,” Dursley snarled, and Remus lowered his wand, stepping aside to let Dursley through. 

“V-Vernon” he heard Petunia stammer, and he turned to see Sirius with his wand raised now in the direction of Dursley. Evidently Sirius cut a more intimidating figure than Remus because Dursley dropped his papers, the rolls falling to the linoleum with a soft clatter. 

“You,” he gasped, face turning red, “you… that Potter man… you’re” 

“Harry’s godfather,” Sirius said shortly, “we’ve met.” 

Dursley looked in bewilderment at Sirius, then Remus, then at his wife. 

“Petunia?” he asked, and Petunia trembled. 

“Just let them go, Vernon,” she said in a quavering voice, “Duddy’s okay.” 

Sirius snorted. “Is that what you call your lump of a son then, _Tuney _.” Petunia flushed blotchily and Remus could have hit him.__

____

____

“Sirius, we’re going,” he said, and Vernon glared. 

“Too right you’re going,” he said, “I always knew there was something _funny _about you two with your odd hours and your blasted motorcycle. Get out of our house and off our street you… you freaky _queers _.”____

_____ _

_____ _

Remus raised a single eyebrow at Sirius, who looked dangerously relaxed. 

“No, Dursley, I think I’m going to teach you a lesson on manners,” he said languidly. Remus hesitated a moment, tempted, and then disarmed him. 

“That’s enough,” he said, “Dumbledore will be here any minute and..” 

“Dumbledore?” said Petunia suddenly, and both Sirius and Remus looked up at her in surprise. She was covering her horsey mouth, her eyes wide and apologetic as she addressed Vernon. 

“Only… well he said the boy would have to stay with us…” she said uncertainly. Sirius glared. 

“Do you _want him _?” he demanded, and Petunia lowered her hand looking enormously cross.__

____

____

“Of course not,” she snapped, and Harry gave a small whimper, “strange, horrible child. But,” she paused, “well, we’ll be in trouble with… with your sort if we let him go, won’t we?” 

“Our sort” began Sirius, and Remus elbowed him with his free arm. Harry was getting heavier by the moment and Remus was beginning to regret not just apparating away once they’d got him. 

“It’s fine,” he said, “Dumbledore sent him, change of plans, ta. We’ll let you know once he’s been settled down…” 

He trailed off at the look on Vernon and Petunia’s faces as they stared at something behind Remus. Slowly, slowly, he turned. There, at the door, stood Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall. 

“Fuck,” said Sirius with a calm that Remus did not feel. Remus handed Harry to Sirius wordlessly, and, bless him, Harry went without protest. 

“Did I now,” said Dumbledore placidly, “I don’t remember doing anything of the sort. The mind does get old, but,” he gave Remus a significant look and Remus swallowed dryly, wondering if it was worth just making a run for it, “I think it’s best we come in.” He looked expectantly at Dursley, who just gaped. 

“I had hoped for an invitation,” Dumbledore continued, his plum robes swishing as he stepped briskly through he door, “but it is unwise to linger over thresholds, even in these early days of peace.” Minerva followed him, her eyes fixed on Harry. 

“Now wait a moment,” Dursley stuttered, drawing himself to an admittedly impressive height, “you can’t just…” 

“Oh I think I must,” said Dumbledore, waving his hand at the door which closed smartly. Dursley jumped. 

“Sirius,” said Minerva quietly, “take Harry to his room.” Sirius looked mutinous. 

“If you think I’m letting him out of my sight…” he began when Harry, overwhelmed, began to cry. 

“Shut up!” Petunia said reflexively and Harry quieted immediately. Minerva’s lips thinned. 

“Sirius..” Dumbledore said, and Sirius turned his glare to Petunia. 

“Where’s his room,” he barked. Dursley answered instead. 

“He hasn’t got..” he began, and then seemed to lose confidence, “that is… he sleeps in the cupboard, his ruddy noise keeps Dudley awake.” 

Sirius stared at him. “The..” 

“The cupboard under the stairs,” Dursley continued gruffly, and Remus felt the colour drain from his face. 

“You keep him in…” he began, and Dumbledore gave him a quelling look. The headmaster looked nearly as pale as Remus, but his gaze was steady. 

“One thing at a time, I think,” he said, and his voice was so cold that Remus could have sworn that the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. “Sirius, take him upstairs to the spare bedroom. 

“How do you know…” Dursley began, and Dumbledore fixed his eyes back on Dursley. 

“You have, I believe, four bedrooms in this house,” he said quietly, “more than enough to host Harry, though we will discuss that at a later juncture. Sirius?” 

Sirius nodded, walking up the stares and baring his teeth at Petunia who flattened herself against the wall to let him pass. When he returned, Dumbledore ushered the five of them into the sitting room where he indicated that they all take a seat. 

“Right,” said Dumbledore, “refreshments?” He raised his wand and the Dursleys cowered into the paisley sofa across from Remus, Sirius, and Minerva who had squashed themselves into the matching sofa on the opposite side of the coffee table. Dumbledore sat in an equally hideous armchair between them, looking almost as though he was holding court. It was a bizarre image; Dumbledore in his resplendent robes regarding them as calmly as though he was behind his desk at Hogwarts, his long fingers steepled under his chin. After a moment of uncomfortable silence he raised his wand and Dursley, who seemed to have finally taken complete leave of his senses, threw himself in front of his wife. Dumbledore’s lips quirked slightly as he conjured a dusty bottle of mead from what appeared to be thin air. 

“Madame Rosmerta’s finest,” he said, as though it was a perfectly normal luncheon and Dursley was not sprawled across a whimpering Petunia. Remus took his proffered glass in silence and drank so as to have something to do. The Dursleys eyed their own floating glasses with suspicion and horror. 

Sirius ginned at Remus from around Minerva as the glasses began to politely tap the Dursley’s heads. Remus coughed into his second sip of mead and put the glass down on the coffee table. Dumbledore seemed to appear to be waiting for someone else to speak; to Remus’ dismay it did not appear as though Minerva, Sirius, or the Dursleys were going to indulge him. 

“Er,” said Remus awkwardly, “thanks, Albus.” 

Dumbledore waved away the thanks. “Not a promise Remus. Would you like to posit a solution to the issue that appears before us?” 

Everyone was looking at Remus except the Dursleys who seemed to be tentatively batting their glasses away ineffectively. Remus cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Well, we aren’t leaving him with them,” he said, and Sirius downed his glass and slammed it on the counter. 

“Too right,” he said in his poshest voice, “too right. Sorry Albus but we’re just going to have to take him and set up a Fidelius, Minerva can be secret keeper, I’ll sell the London flat and we’ll live in some village somewhere.” 

“Maidstone?” suggested Minerva, and Sirius paled. 

“No,” he said shortly. “Harry can have it when he’s older. I don’t want…” he took a shaky breath, “that is, it’s not exactly incognito, the Potter place is the first place they’d look for him, we’ll keep it rented for now. Not Maidstone. We’ll stay in Wales, where Remus grew up.” 

Remus thought that this was a bit unfair as his memories of Llangynidr were easily as painful now as Sirius’ memories of Maidstone, but they’d work it out later. He simply nodded, and was rewarded by a brilliant smile from Sirius. 

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” said Dumbledore softly, “much as it pains me. He must remain on this property until he is of age; it goes further than his protection now. We must keep the ancient magic I evoked with Lily’s sacrifice alive lest Voldemort rise again. You understand that Harry would be his very first target?” 

Remus froze, and felt Minerva stiffen beside him again. 

“A-again?” he stammered, and Sirius’s glare was murderous. 

“What don’t we know, Dumbledore,” he growled, but he was interrupted by Dursley. 

“Will you get these ruddy things off of us!” he burst out, and Remus turned his head to see the Dursleys cowering as their glasses jumped up and down on their heads, sloshing mead everywhere. 

“Ah, apologies,” said Dumbledore politely, though he looked as though he was rather enjoying himself. “It would have been better manners to drink them, of course, but here we are.” He vanished the glasses. Dursley looked like he was going to explode at being instructed on manners by the man who had broken into his house and attacked him with mead, but his fear of Dumbledore evidently kept him in check. Remus couldn’t help himself from smirking. 

“What don’t we know, Albus,” Sirius repeated, and Dumbledore appeared, for a fraction of a second, to hesitate. 

“Quite a lot of things,” he said easily, “why there are exceptions to Gamp’s Fifth Law of Transfiguration, if a charmed copy of a valuable object holds the same value of the object, how many beans are in every Bertie’s Bean box….” 

Sirius looked torn between fury and amusement. 

“That’s my line, old man,” he said— and it was. Remus remembered how, in fourth year, Sirius had used the same tactic to avoid telling Dumbledore of their illegal attempt at animagery. The image was nearly funny enough to distract him from the implications of the reference: he was hiding something.

More importantly, if Dumbledore was hiding something, it meant he was scheming. Remus, who had been on the wrong end of Dumbledore’s schemes more than enough to mistrust them, narrowed his eyes at the Headmaster. 

“Eggs and baskets,” he said shortly. Dumbledore chuckled. 

“I’m not scheming, my dear Remus,” he said as though he had read Remus’ mind— which he might have done, had Remus not been particularly skilled at occulmency. He continued, ignoring Sirius’ derisive snort. “I have merely made a few conjectures that suggest, given the high likelihood that Lord Voldemort is still around, that he may return and that his potential target would be too reverse the embarrassing circumstance that resulted in his public failure.” 

“Yeah, bloody embarrassing that he killed… that he… that J…” Sirius had begun his statement sardonically but seemed unable to finish. Minerva put a protective arm around him and he subsided. To general surprise, Petunia Dursley was the next to speak. 

“You mean..” she whispered, “he’s alive? Lord What’s His Name?” 

“Voldemort,” said Dumbledore calmly, “and I think alive is a generous term in this instance. He is not _dead _.” Dursley looked confused and then he bristled, standing abruptly.__

____

____

“You’ve put a marked man in our house, then have you?” he said shortly, “Endangering our son? I won’t have it, I won’t. I put up with all this,” he gestured towards the hallway where, no doubt, they would find Harry’s ‘cupboard’, “out of sheer decency but I will not have some ruddy… ruddy zombie or whatever coming to my ruddy house!” 

Remus’ stomach turned at the image of a Voldemort inferius, but Dumbledore merely looked to Petunia. 

“And you,” he said in a quiet, terrible voice, “Petunia Evans? Will you allow your only living flesh and blood family to be cast out to the mercy of the man who murdered your sister?” 

Petunia paled, her eyes darting away from Dursley. “My son…” she began, and Dumbledore lifted a hand to stop her. 

“Your family is perfectly safe as long as Harry Potter remains on your property,” he said coldly, “though should he leave, so too will our protection. You are unlikely targets for Lord Voldemort’s wrath— he does not, I believe, know the name of Lily Potter’s family. Yet muggle targets are considered little more than playthings for his followers. It is in your best interest that Harry Potter be protected.” 

Remus gaped at him. Surely this was a bit… extreme? He had no sympathy for Petunia Dursley, but something about the situation felt deeply wrong. 

“What do you mean by property?” interrupted Sirius, and all heads turned to look at him. Dumbledore looked politely confused. 

“Pardon?” he asked. Sirius looked as though he had an idea. 

“I just mean,” he began, looking shiftily at Remus, “how far the charm extends?” 

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. “Number five would not fall within…” 

“No, not number five,” Sirius interrupted, “number four. How far does it extend? 

Dumbledore cocked his head and regarded Sirius through his half-moon spectacles. “Within the parameters of the fence, I would think,’ he said. Sirius nodded. 

“Fine,” he said, “we’ll live in the garden.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It begins!


	11. The Wizard, the Waif, and the Werewolf (March 1982)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elphinstone Urquart was Minerva McGonagall's husband from 1981 to 1985-- Remus did not know about the wedding because it was a small affair and he and Sirius were fairly cut off from the world during their year in Number Five. WOMBATS are non-practical versions of OWLS which can be taken by non-magical persons (such as squibs) who wish to live/work in the wizarding world.

“Fine,” said Sirius calmly. “We’ll live in the garden.” 

“What?” said Remus. 

“What?” said Petunia. 

Dursley did his best impression of a walrus mixed with a tomato. 

“You don’t want to raise him,” said Sirius, with the air of describing something to the incredibly dimwitted, “and we sure as hell don’t want you to bloody raise him. But he can’t leave your property; he’s got to call this…” he gestured disdainfully at the living room, “a home until he’s of age. So we’ll live in the back garden.” 

The plan wasn’t half bad; Dumbledore looked as though he was considering it. Remus imagined living with the Dursleys with no small amount of horror; still, Harry would be safe and out of that horrible little cupboard.

“And you’ll sleep where,” Dursley sneered, “in the begonias?” Petunia squeaked in horror. 

“Oh Vernon how could she,” she said, quaveringly, “ruining my life even now that she’s…” 

“That’ll be enough, I think,” said Dumbledore coldly. Sirius looked murderous, but Remus noted with pride that he restrained himself from rising to the bait. 

“My Uncle Alphard left me a tent,” he said, “we can live in that.” 

“A tent!?” bristled Dursley, “a bloody tent!? If you think we’ll let you use the facilities then you're even more off your nut than the rest of your lot.” 

Sirius looked a bit confused at this, and Remus bit back a grin. ‘Wizarding tents are a bit different,” he explained, pleased by the way the Dursleys shuddered at the mention of wizards. “Sirius’ tent has three bedrooms, two full bathrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, and a living room. I think we’ll be sorted.” 

“And it’s only about the size of a paddling pool,” said Sirius proudly. Remus gave him a small smile. 

“Still,” Petunia spluttered, “what will the neighbours think?” 

“We’ll disillusion it,” said Remus patiently, “and we’ll be discreet.” 

Dursley seemed to be fighting with himself; his face was growing steadily more and more purple. “I won’t have my Dudders raised with a bunch of shirt-lifting you-know-whats in the back garden,” he burst out finally. Remus winced. 

“We’re not..” he began, and Sirius interrupted him with a grin.

“A couple of wizarding poofs are the most popular addition to any modern home,” he said cheerfully. Dumbledore chuckled. 

“This may just work,” he said, bright blue eyes sparkling behind his half-moon spectacles. The Dursleys blanched. 

“This is our property,” said Dursley angrily, “you can’t just up and live here! We have rights!” 

“So does Harry!” said Remus, reddening himself, “and unless you’d rather we call child protective services and get both of them taken from you then..” 

“They wouldn’t!” said Petunia, shocked. “We haven’t done anything wrong!” 

This was too much for Remus. “YOU KEPT A BABY IN A FUCKING CUPBOARD” he yelled, and the house seemed to tremble around him. Petunia gave a little shriek, and Dursley threw himself in front of her again, as though to shield her from the sheer force of Remus’ anger. Struggling for breath, Remus roughly stuck out his hand for Sirius. 

Sirius looked somewhat shocked, but he immediately took the hand and squeezed it reassuringly. They stood, glaring silently at the trembling Dursleys. No one spoke— and then two toddlers began to wail. 

“Shit,” said Sirius. Petunia looked desperately at the stairs. 

“Sirius,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, “perhaps you ought to get Harry.” Sirius nodded and gave Remus another reassuring squeeze. Petunia, with a desperately apologetic look at Dursley, went to console Dudley. 

Remus watched Sirius go, sighing. He knew Dumbledore had sent Sirius away because he considered Remus the more reasonable of the two, and this meant that he would have to try much harder than Sirius to oppose the headmaster. Still, he squared his shoulders. _Gryffindor, _he reminded himself, _you’re a bloody Gryffindor.___

_____ _

Dumbledore was sitting in polite silence, twirling his knobbly wand between his fingers and gazing with interest between Remus and Dursley. Minerva gave him a sharp look and he jumped guiltily. 

“Ah, well then,” he said, “to the matter of disillusionment.” Dursley bristled. 

“I haven’t said,” he began, and Remus interrupted him. 

“We can pay rent if you like,” he said calmly, “and babysit of course.” Dursley glared. 

“If you think I’m letting your lot anywhere near my son…” he said threateningly. Remus wondered if he was referring to them being wizards or… well, he could sort that one out later. 

“We can stay out of your way,” he offered, “the tent will be, for all intents and purposes, invisible and would only take up the back corner of the garden. We can put on muggle-repelling charms in order to keep away neighbours and your son without endangering anyone. There’s…” he paused, wondering how they would handle full moons.

“If I may,” interrupted Dumbledore, “it would be safest to have Harry sleep in the house itself at least once a month. He and Dudley could have, what is it that they call it, a ‘sleep-over’?” Remus gave him a look of deep gratitude. 

“Fine,” muttered Dursley, “fine! Bloody hell this country’s going to the dogs.” Remus caught himself from giggling at the last moment at the accidental pun. He’d have to tell Sirius about it later. Dursley fixed his piggy eyes on Remus. 

“What do you do for work,” he barked, and Remus hesitated. 

“Not a bloody layabout like the boy’s no-good father then,” said Dursley darkly, and Remus instinctively went for his wand. Minerva’s hand descended like a claw to grab his arm and he look a long, deep breath. 

“James Potter,” he said calmly, “was one of the finest men I have ever know. He was a talented, kind, and good man. He was a soldier,” Remus said, feeling that would be a better word than ‘vigilante’, “and he died fighting in a war that nearly destroyed Britain.” 

Dursley looked grudgingly impressed. “You’re one too then?” he asked. Remus gave him a wry smile. 

“Sirius and I both were,” he said, “we do, er, freelance work now. Pest control and the like.” Dursley nodded, looking more in his element. 

“The name’s Vernon,” he said gruffly, sticking out a hand. Remus swallowed his surprise and shook it. “It’s always a pleasure to meet someone who fought for the country and does good honest work. Not like those namby-pamby young people who do soft jobs like teaching or art.” Remus smiled politely and silently counted to ten in his head a few times. Something about Vernon reminded him of a more openly rude Professor Slughorn. 

“You, erm, work in drills then?” he asked, doing his best to remember what, exactly, a drill was. Dursley— Vernon— nodded. 

“Director of the firm at Grunnings,” he said proudly, “fine drills.” To Remus’ relief, Vernon began to done on about drills while Remus feigned polite interest and Dumbledore amused himself with a muggle magazine that he had picked up off the coffee table. Minerva had politely excused herself to use the toilet and Remus assumed that she was poking around the house: Lily had once told him that Minerva’s upbringing had been muggle, as her father didn’t really approve of magic, and that she was always interested to hear about new innovations in the muggle world. 

Just as Vernon had begun to complain about the low quality of most modern drill bits, Sirius came down the stairs holding Harry. 

“He sniffled every time I went to leave,” he said apologetically, “I just couldn’t bear to leave him. Sorry Remus.” 

Remus smiled at him. “No harm done,” he said, desperately wracking his brains for a topic of conversation that would keep both Vernon AND Sirius civil, “er, Vernon and I were just discussing… um, drills. They work on engines you know, Sirius likes engines. Cars too.” 

“I prefer my motorbike,” said Sirius tightly. Vernon scowled. 

“Dangerous things,” he said darkly, and Sirius grinned. 

“Rather the appeal of them, I always thought,” he said, “though I once rode a Pontiac Firebird through the Welsh countryside.” Vernon grunted, seemingly impressed. 

“Good model, that,” he said, “expensive.” 

Sirius shrugged, looking as though he was going to tell that he had stolen it to give Hope Lupin a birthday joyride. Remus glared at him. 

“Sirius is interested in engineering,” he said quickly, “he built the bike himself.” 

“1968 Triumph Bonneville,” Sirius said proudly, “Four-speed originally but I managed to get it to seven. It’s got a parallel-twin four-stroke engine running at 900cc high-torque power.” Remus had absolutely no idea what this meant, but Vernon looked considerably more relaxed. 

“Ruddy unreliable things, motorcycles,” he said, and Sirius shrugged. 

“Easier and cheaper fix than a car,” he said, “and less worry about traffic.” Vernon actually laughed. 

“It’s murder on the way in and out of London,” he said. Sirius grinned. 

“Wouldn’t know about it would I?” he said smugly, and Vernon snorted. Remus watched Sirius with pride and amusement. He was clearly trying very hard.

“Yes, a handsome bike,” said Dumbledore who had put down the magazine and was checking his watch. “Shall we get the tent, Sirius?” All friendliness dropped from Vernon’s face. 

“No look here,” he said, bristling again, “if you think I’ll allow..” 

“Oh I rather think you will,” said Dumbledore cooly. “When I left him here nearly a year ago I had hoped not to see him until he reached the age of eleven, at which time he would attend Hogwarts as a happy, normal child. I know now that this would not have been the case. Your willingness to mistreat an infant shocks me; I have no doubt that your treatment of a child would have been worse. My own dear..” Dumbledore took a steadying breath, looking slightly green. Minerva walked over to him and quietly touched his hand. He beamed at her. “My own dear sister,” he continued, “was forced to hide her magic. It destroyed her mind and her health. I would not have forgiven myself if the same should happen to Lily and James’ son.”

Remus took a sharp intake of breath and felt Sirius do the same. Lily had once written to him about Bathilda Bagshot mentioning Dumbledore’s sister— Aurora or Adrina or something— but not that she was, as Dumbledore seemed to be suggesting, an obscurial. This and Gellart Grindelwald… what else didn’t they know about him? 

“They could have turned Harry into an obscurial…” Sirius whispered murderously, and Remus briefly flirted with the idea of putting Sirius into a full body bind until he would calm down. But Sirius merely passed Harry to Remus and gave Vernon a cold nod. 

“I’ll apparate to Diagon,” Sirius said to Dumbledore, “it should be in my vault.” Dumbledore nodded. 

“I must be getting back to Hogwarts,” he said. Minerva nodded curtly. 

“I’ll stay with Mr. Lupin I think,” she said, “and help him to pack up number five. Shall we bring back Arabella?” 

“It certainly couldn’t hurt,” said Dumbledore, “though I was wondering if perhaps she would not make a better muggle studies teacher. She certainly knows the subject well, and she passed her WOMBATS with flying colours.” 

At the sound of the word ‘wombats’, Vernon looked up with narrowed eyes. He seemed to not want to know what they were talking about but also looked distinctly frustrated that he was being excluded. Remus wanted very badly to leave. 

“You won’t have to see us much, I don’t think,” he said awkwardly, and Vernon grunted his approval. “Um, yeah. Best be going.” He stuck out a hand and Vernon shook it after a moment’s hesitation. The two nodded at each other and then Remus turned to Sirius. 

“I won’t let him out of my sight,” he promised, “you don’t need to rush. Maybe pick up some food on the way back, we’re low on supplies and I’m sure Harry’ll love your cooking.” Sirius nodded, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

“You’ll be alright then,” he said, and Remus nodded. Sirius gave Harry a kiss on the forehead and walked out the door to apparate, the resulting crack sounding like a car backfiring. Vernon jumped nearly a foot and Harry gave out a yell, looking around frantically. 

“It’s okay Harry,” Remus said, patting down his hair and kissing his pudgy fist. Harry relaxed; Vernon did not. 

“Ruddy..” he began, and glared at Remus as though it had been he who made the noise. Remus smiled tightly. 

“Apologies,” he said, “Cheers, Albus.” Dumbledore gave him and Minerva a slight bow. 

“You may go on, I think,” he said, “I would like to chat with Mr. and Mrs. Dursley before I go.” Remus nodded and walked out of the door with Minerva close behind. The two walked in silence, Harry peering about in interest as they entered number five. 

The house was basically identical to its neighbours in form, but completely different in decoration. Where the Dursleys had immaculate marble surfaces, Remus and Sirius had mismatched wooden furniture covered in books, forgotten tea mugs, toast crumbs, projects, and newspapers. There was a massive yellow clock on the wall that Sirius had charmed to sing the time whenever someone walked by and a gorgeous old gramaphone in the corner that Remus had inherited from his muggle grandfather. Harry looked about in interest at the toolbox for motorcycle maintenance and the grindylow making faces at them from a tank where there had once been a muggle fridge. Remus, his back beginning to ache, put Harry down and he immediately raced over to the still-lit fireplace. 

“Fuck— _protego _!” yelled Remus, and Harry collided with the barrier just in time before he reached the cackling purple flames. He fell with a cry of alarm and Minerva swept over to pick him up, cuddling him and pulling a sweet from behind his ear. Immediately distracted, Harry began to unwrap the sweet, his from of concentration so precious that Remus wished he had a camera. McGonagall looked up at him: he had evidently been gaping at her in surprise.__

____

“My brother has children,” she said shortly. Harry crowed with pride as he shoved the unwrapped toffee into his mouth. “You know the charm for unclogging a windpipe?” 

“Er, _anapneo _I think,” he said. McGonagall nodded.__

____

“I always found that one most handy when watching my nieces and nephews,” she said. She hesitated. “My, er, my husband is quite good with them.” 

Remus felt as though he himself could use an _anapneo _. “Your, oh, er, congratulations?” he stammered, and Minerva looked somewhat embarrassed.__

____

“Yes, well,” she said, “it was a small affair, very quiet. Elphinstone Urquart, you may remember him from… from before.” 

Remus blinked rapidly, vaguely remembering a handsome but elderly wizard from the Order. “He, um, he’s a senior officer in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?” Minerva nodded, and Remus could have sworn she was blushing. Harry had begun to explore and Remus realised, for the first time, how much baby-proofing he and Sirius would need to do. Harry toppled a stack of books and turned to look at Remus in shock and horror. 

“It’s okay pumpkin,” he said, walking over to Harry who cowered slightly. Remus sat down about two paces away from him and smiled encouragingly. “No trouble, Harry,” he said gently, “it’s okay sweetheart.” He looked up at Minerva, who looked devastated. 

“What were they doing to him,” he said, and Minerva pursed her lips so tightly that they nearly disappeared. 

“I’m afraid that if this arrangement is going to work we’re likely best not knowing,” she replied curtly, and Remus nodded. Harry was looking at him imploringly, and Remus opened his arms. Harry pushed himself into a standing position and approached Remus, who cuddled him close and kissed the top of his head. “We should pack,” he said, and Minerva transfigured the dining room table into a playpen. Remus deposited Harry in it and, at Harry’s crestfallen expression, he transfigured a teacup into a stuffed dog. Harry clutched it gleefully and he watched with interest as Minerva and Remus went around summoning things and packing them neatly into boxes that they conjured out of thin air. 

“Lovely record collection,” remarked Minerva as she examined one of Remus’ big band records. Remus grinned.  
“Christmas present from Fleamont,” he said fondly, “Sirius thought it was the most ridiculously grandfatherly present in the world but I was delighted.” He paused, looking over at Harry. 

“There should be a couple of Lily’s records at the bottom,” he said, his throat constricting painfully. He cleared his throat. “She um, she used to play them. For Harry.” He walked over to help Minerva look, pulling out a cardboard album jacket with a large yellow banana painted on the front under the words ‘The Velvet Underground  & Nico’. Minerva quirked an eyebrow at him as he placed it on the gramophone and ‘Sunday Morning’ began to play. Using a charm that Mary MacDonald had shown him in fourth year, he skipped ahead two songs and closed his eyes, a small smile spreading across his face as the familiar tune began to play.

_Here she comes ___  
_You better watch your step ___  
_She's going to break your heart in two, it's true ___  
_It's not hard to realise ___  
_Just look into her false coloured eyes ___  
_She'll build you up to just put you down, what a clown ___  


_______Cause everybody knows (She's a femme fatale) ___  
_The things she does to please (She's a femme fatale) ___  
_She's just a little tease (She's a femme fatale) ___  
_See the way she walks ___  
_Hear the way she talks ___  


___ _

___Harry was giggling and bouncing up and down, but Minerva looked mildly scandalised. At the lines _‘You're written in her book, You’re number thirty seven, have a look’ _she coughed loudly.___ _ _

___ _

___“Is this really appropriate, Remus,” she said weakly, and Remus laughed._ _ _

_____ _

_____ _

“Maybe not, but we were only twenty when he was born,” he said apologetically. As _Femme Fatale _faded out and__ _Heroin ___began, he hastily swapped it out for the less offensive _Yellow Submarine. ___They had barely finished packing when Sirius waltzed in with a package under one arm and a little bag that Remus recognised as the one they’d put an illegal extension charm on a few years ago.

___“Urgh, I hate the Beetles,” he said, pulling a face and placing the bag and the package beside the playpen._ _ _

_____ _

_____ _

“Hey Snidget,” he said, crouching to squash his face against the bars. Harry giggled and smacked him on the nose, causing Sirius to laugh and turn into a dog who barked and wagged his tail so energetically that he knocked over a nearby tea table. Harry fell onto his bum, cackling at Padfoot. Remus watched them with fond amusement, only belatedly remembering Minerva. He turned to see her looking at him with an inscrutable expression. 

“What?” he asked, defensively. She smiled. 

“I’m thinking you have your work cut out for you,” she said. Remus grinned and opened his mouth to answer when a crash altered him to the fact that Harry had managed to vanish the bars of his playpen and was currently being chased, shrieking happily, by a massive black dog that turned back into Sirius as he caught Harry, laughing and squirming before both of them fell into the fire. He rubbed the back of his neck, daunted but no less giddy with excitement. 

“I’ve always liked a challenge, Professor,” he said confidently. "Tea?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Velvet Underground, they strike me as the sort of stuff that 20 year old parents would find appropriate for a baby. I do not like the Beetles, but I headcanon that Lily would have liked them for baby Harry. Also, Remus and Fleamont's love of big bands comes from one of my oldest favourite fics, 'The Shoebox Project' from which I take many headcanons.


	12. Dogfathering (September 1982)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> er, not intending this to be RPF.... I just.... have a small headcanon about Sibylle Baier.... anyway warnings for general sadness. And tickling? Bed sharing? Why do these things need warnings? Because they made me cry with happiness.

“You should get that thing fixed,” sniffed Petunia as Remus walked out of the tent with Harry on his hip and Padfoot at his feet. Remus quirked an eyebrow at Padfoot, who growled. 

“Bad dog,” he admonished as Petunia let out a shriek, “or I might just do it.” Padfoot glared at him balefully as they continued towards the front gate. 

“I know you,” Petunia blurted, and Remus turned to her in surprise. 

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I was your neighbour and now I’m,” he gestured to the tent, unsure of what the status of their relationship to the Dursleys was, exactly. Petunia scowled. 

“No I mean, before. You were at the wedding with the other one. He was best-man.” 

Remus remembered Petunia at the wedding, sans Vernon and queasy-looking,drinking orange juice and glaring at the witches and wizards who dared approach her. Lily had cried with joy at the fact she’d shown up at all and Remus felt a stab of dislike for Petunia Dursley threaten to turn his polite smile into a grimace. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“And you were at the funeral,” she added. Remus felt like she’d hit him over the head with her gardening trowel. 

“Yes,” he said stiffly, and Padfoot’s hackles rose. Remus put down a nervous-looking Harry, who held his arms up to be held  
the moment Remus set him down. 

“Padfoot, take Harry inside” he said, and the dog nosed the toddler back in the direction of the tent. If Petunia questioned his choice of babysitter she did not comment. She looked, in fact, rather cross with herself for speaking. 

“You were at the funeral?” he asked, trying to remember seeing her. 

“I sat at the back,” she said, turning back to the flower bed but continuing to speak, “I brought the boy. You gave a speech. The other one wasn’t there.” 

“My name is Sirius,” said Sirius, walking out of the tent alone. He looked angry and Remus hoped that he’d left his wand inside. 

Petunia blushed furiously and set at the weeds in her plot with renewed vigour. 

“I was in prison, actually,” Sirius continued in a low, harsh voice. Remus wanted to box his ears; they’d only been in the garden for two days and it was Sirius’ idea, for crying out loud. Petunia gave him a look of pure disgust. 

“Of course you were,” she said darkly, “Li— my sister always had a terrible taste in friends.” Remus reflexively disarmed Sirius before his wand was fully drawn, catching it and stowing both wands in his pocket, but Petunia still gave a little shriek and ran inside. 

“Damnit,” Sirius muttered and kicked the shrubbery. Remus, against his better judgement, returned Sirius his wand. He took it with a look that would have been sheepish on a lesser being than Sirius Black. Remus offered him a weak smile. 

“The plan’s still on then, yeah?” he asked, and Sirius shrugged, still evidently angry. Remus sighed. 

“Sirius, this isn’t going to work if you can’t be civil with them,” he said, reasonably. Sirius glared. 

“You’ve seen what Harry’s like now,” he said tightly, “how scared he is when he knocks something over, the way he stops crying every time we step into his room and cringes like he expects us to hit him. You saw the bruises on his arms. I can’t play nice with them they’re,” he took a shaky breath, “they’re monsters. Worse than my own parents.” Remus took his hand, trying not to show how shaken he was by Sirius’ last. 

“Padfoot, he’s safe now,” he said gently, “we can protect him, he has a happy life ahead of him. It’s just a couple years.” 

“His entire childhood you mean,” argued Sirius, “stuck in this bloody garden on this bloody muggle street right next to the same bloody muggles who abused him.” Remus cringed. 

“We’ll think of something,” he promised. “It doesn’t have to be forever, just until we come up with something better. It’s us,” he added and felt swooping sensation in his chest at the word us. “We’ve managed to get this far.” Sirius nodded. 

“Anyway,” Remus continued, walking back into the tent, “we can always take him on holidays. I’ve always wanted to go back to France.” Sirius nodded and picked up Harry from his playpen. Harry giggled and Sirius gave him a very sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

“I missed you,” he told the baby seriously, and Remus rolled his eyes. 

“It’s been five minutes,” he said, and Sirius flapped a dismissive hand in his direction as Harry began directing Sirius around the tent. It was a new game of theirs: Harry would point somewhere and say “go” and Sirius would carry him over there and they’d both laugh hysterically until Harry directed him somewhere else. Sirius was, as ever, shockingly good with Harry. Remus still felt himself go a bit weak at the knees at this side of him, his long hair pulled into a loose bun, grinning foolishly at a messy-haired baby 

“Pa’foot GO!” Harry bellowed and Sirius took off running and leaped, still clutching Harry, onto the couch where he began to tickle the shrieking child. 

“Moooooooony” yelled Harry, and Remus laughed as he walked to join them, tickling Sirius just under the ribs where he knew from many years of experience that Sirius was most sensitive. As he had hoped, Sirius began to shriek and flail immediately. 

“AHHHHHH Mooony moony AH stop STOP UNCLE UNCLE” he yelled, and Remus released him, laughing at the look of betrayal of Sirius’ face. Harry, with a very sneaky look on his face, reached up and grabbed ineffectively at Sirius in what appeared to be an attempt at tickling. Sirius, humouring him, pretended to shriek and grabbed Harry against his so that the toddler’s back was to his chest and his arms restrained against his sides. 

“Moooooony” Harry complained, and Remus jumped to his rescue, tickling Sirius again. 

“Betrayal,” howled Sirius, and he transformed. Harry swatted at the dog. 

“Gentle,” Remus admonished, rather undermined by his recent track record. Harry looked at him more incredulously than any two-year-old had any business looking. 

“Pads, come back,” he called, above Harry’s head, “we’re going to Diagon today all right? Do you have the robes?” 

Sirius walked in, having already changed. Remus passed Harry to him and went to do the same, sighing at the fussy fastenings on the new robes Sirius had gotten him (despite his protestations) when Sirius had last gone to Diagon Alley in early August. Unlike his plain black work robes which he wore whenever in the Wizarding world, these were deep brown with cream and black accents, far more stylish than those he usually found in charity shops, and much better fitting. 

“Three collars, Sirius?” he asked, rolling his eyes as he stepped out of the room. Sirius stopped dead at the sight of him, nearly dropping Harry. Remus frowned; Sirius was giving him a very strange look. 

“What?” he asked, self consciously, “have I done them up wrong? It’s been a long time since I’ve worn..” 

“No,” Sirius interrupted, “it’s just, no, they’re perfect. I have excellent taste. Just. Just was reminded of my excellent taste and thought, wow, Sirius, you’ve done it again, made Moony look like ah, um, very good. Yes.” He picked up Harry. 

“I’ve got to get this one into his robes too, hmm?” he asked Harry, who was looking at him curiously. Sirius swept out and returned later only slightly pink in the face with Harry in a set of bottle-green children’s robes. 

“Don’t most kids just wear muggle clothes these days?” asked Remus, who had always found wizard’s robes rather silly. Sirius shrugged. 

“Not the ones with two wizarding parents usually,” he said. Remus nodded. It was probably wise to draw as little attention to themselves as possible.

Not that being with Sirius Black would make them any less noticeable. He looked strange in robes: haughtier and less familiar than he did in dungarees. The robes were impeccably cut, informal but handsome in a deep blue colour that made his silky black hair look almost indigo and brought out his silver eyes and sharp profile. He did not, Remus noted with some jealousy, have three collars. He actually had no proper collars, just a simple nehru collar with the top button undone and the sleeves slashed like Remus’ to show a simple white shirt underneath, rolled to his elbows. Remus wondered when he’d had them made. 

“You aren’t supposed to do them up all the way,” Sirius said gruffly, walking up and only hesitating slightly when he reached to undo the top buttons of the shirt. 

Remus blushed. “Er,” he said, buttoning them back up except the very first, “thanks”. Sirius grinned toothily. 

“Ah, loosen up Moony, undo another button, you won’t look like a slag.” 

“Language!” he warned, but Harry was just pulling at the hem of his robes with interest. Sirius scooped him up. 

“Disillusionment charms?” he asked and Remus hesitated. 

“No,” he said, with a sigh “the longer we keep him hidden the more absurd the rumours will be. I say let’s just get it over with. Sirius pulled a face but nodded. They walked outside to where Sirius’ bike stood parked under a tarp. Sirius sat, Harry strapped securely to his back. 

“Careful,” Remus said, checking the cushioning charms anxiously. Sirius waved him away. 

“You apparate ahead, I’ll meet you at Fortescue’s. We should probably find a way to connect the fireplace at Number Four to the floo.” 

“Probably,” Remus agreed, giving Harry a kiss on the forehead and smoothing down his fringe. “See you in half an hour?” 

“Yes, Mum,” said Sirius, kicking the ignition. Remus watched as the bike roared to life and then vanished, leaving only a faint trail of exhaust as it made its ascent above the clouds. 

………..

Remus stood anxiously outside of Florian Fortescue’s ice cream parlour, clutching a chocolate flavoured ice cream cone in one hand for Harry and a pumpkin flavoured one in the other for Sirius. He noted ruefully that he would have to buy Harry another, as he’d already stress-eaten half the chocolate one. A rumble signified the approach of the bike and he jumped, spinning on his heels to see a grinning man with a cackling baby on his back drive up on a motorbike. The entire Alley seemed to freeze and frantic shouts of 

“Sirius Black??” 

“Is that Harry Potter?” 

“Blimey, it’s him!”

began to spread through the street. Remus flushed as Sirius parked his bike and took the pumpkin ice cream. 

“Thanks Moony,” he said jovially, as though he hadn’t noticed the whispering. Remus freed Harry from his cocoon of magic and muggle baby-sling contraption on Sirius’ back. He handed Harry the second ice-cream and Harry began to smear it across his face and arms delightedly. Remus sighed. 

A flash of light blinded him momentarily, and Harry gave a cry of alarm. A young man stood with a camera, grinning at them. 

“Statement for the Daily Prophet, Mr…” 

“No comment,” said Remus flatly, beginning to walk away. Sirius was also mobbed by reporters, shouting random comments their way. 

“Ah yes, that’s Dirk Cresswell my personal valet,” he said to one, and to another he said “Nah, not Harry Potter, he’s my illegitimate son with Priyanka Patil. Triplets were too much to handle. Scar? No, no, it’s paint, makes him feel special. His name is Minerva Hagrid Shafiq Black.” Remus rolled his eyes. 

“Sirius,” he called, and Sirius pushed his way through the crowd. Harry, looking overwhelmed, had hidden in Remus’ collars. Sirius was grinning, clearly very pleased with himself. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Remus admonished him. The two walked into Gringotts, where they bumped into a very harassed looking witch. 

“I said, it’s _German _muggle money it’s not pounds or euros, it’s _deutschmarks _and I need them exchanged for _galleons _,” she was arguing with a wizard. Remus squinted at her; she looked oddly familiar, a few years older than Sirius himself, her German accent light but present.______

_____ _

_____ _

“Sibylle?” he asked, and she whirled around. Slim and wide-eyed, her dark hair framed her pretty face in a short bob now.

“Who— Remus Lupin, Good God it’s you,” she gasped, and then her eyes fell on Harry. She cooed at him as the goblin behind the desk looked steadily more and more annoyed. 

“What are you doing here?” he blurted, blushing. Sirius looked at him strangely. 

“Ah, this and that,” she said evasively, smiling politely at Sirius. Remus blushed deeper. 

“This is my friend Sirius Black. Sirius, this is Sibylle Baier,” Sibylle smiled at him politely. 

“A pleasure to meet any friend of Remus,” she said warmly. Sirius took it and gave her a posh, bored look. 

“Pleasure,” he drawled, and Remus elbowed him. Sibylle looked at him curiously but said nothing about his coolness. 

“Is this your son then, Remus?” she asked, cooing at the baby. Remus shook his head. 

“No,” he said, looking over to Sirius for help. 

“He’s our godson,” said Sirius, and Sibylle smiled. 

“You make a lovely couple,” she said, and Remus flushed even deeper. “I have a little boy, Robby. He’s only a few years older than this little fellow.” 

“Are you still acting, then?” asked Remus, and Sibylle laughed. 

“As much as I can, though not very successfully. Same for the music, but that’s life hmm?” she chucked Harry under the chin and gave Remus a kiss on the cheek. 

“Right, music,” he said, remembering suddenly. “The Colour Green— did you ever publish it?” Sibylle beamed. 

“Oh you sweet boy, you remembered. No, I never did send it out to muggle or magic studios; I still have the tape though. Would you like a copy?” Remus grinned. 

“That would be amazing, yeah,” he said enthusiastically. Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“Owl post okay?” she asked, and he nodded. 

“We should get tea,” he said, and she agreed. He would have liked to have stayed longer but Sirius dragged him away impatiently. 

“Who was that,” he hissed, and Remus was reminded of the suspicious possessiveness Sirius had taken over him when he had begun secretly seeing Cardoc Dearborn in the fifth year. Harry seemed confused by Sirius’ frustration and Remus pinched Sirius. 

“Be nice and I’ll tell you tonight,” he said as they were motioned over by a goblin. They presented the key to their joint vault— Sirius had insisted on it when they opened a business together and Remus had agreed, with no small amount of argument— as well as they key to the Potters’ vault. They picked up some money for groceries at the first vault and then returned to the cart to go to the Potters’. The ride made Remus nauseous, but Harry and Sirius crowed and yelled with delight as they swooped under the fountain. When the goblin opened the door to the vault, however, they both grew silent. It felt very, very wrong to be standing in front of James, Lily, Fleamont, and Euphemia’s vault without any of the vault’s owners except a small baby who immediately picked up a galleon and shoved it into his mouth. 

“Harry, no,” Remus said exasperated, and tugged it out of his mouth. He squared his shoulders. 

“What are we getting again?” Sirius asked dully, and Remus handed him Harry. 

“Go, I think it’s too much for Harry down here,” he said, knowing that it was really too much for Sirius. Sirius hesitated. 

“I don’t want to leave y—“ 

“It’s fine,” said Remus, “I know how— I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in a few minutes okay?” Sirius nodded gratefully and, with a suspicious look at Remus, the goblin left to escort them back to the exit. Remus took a deep breath and stepped in, moving past the gold and rare magical artefacts that Fleamont and Euphemia had collected over the years. 

He ignored the covered portrait that sat forlornly against the back wall and spared only a moment to look at the painted bronze award from Mayaavidyalaya that used to sit in the Potters’ front parlour at Maidstone. There, beside Fleamont and Euphemia’s ancient trunks, sat Lily and James’ own school trunks. No longer filled with books and notes (Lily had donated both of their sets of textbooks, keeping the useful notes in a muggle accordion file and burnt the rest with the Marauders at the seventh-year Gryffindor post-NEWTS bonfire party; James had just burnt the lot), the trunks held everything that Remus had marked in the house in Godric’s Hallow to save for Harry. Lily’s records and record player were neatly shrunk along with her cassettes and walkman in a small wooden box beside a few of James and Lily’s favourite jumpers and James’ broomstick. With a pang of guilt, Remus remembered that he had told Dumbledore to destroy the child-sized broom from Sirius— yet there it was, full size and polished in the back of the trunk. There were a few other things; books, the mirror Sirius had given James for communicating during detention, photographs of James and Lily and other friends Remus couldn’t bear to look at just yet. He left the jumpers but took everything else, allowing himself a moment to smell James’ jumper and Liy’s favourite flannel shirt. He couldn’t bring himself to feel silly or weird about it. He missed them so much. 

The clothing, after a year in storage, mostly just smelled of mothballs. Still, his werewolf senses could detect James’ distinct scent and a trace of Lily’s shampoo in the soft fabric. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes and he pushed them back, blowing his nose on a crumpled handkerchief he had wisely shoved in his pocket before leaving the tent. Shakily, he left the vault and the goblin, who had returned and was waiting outside locked it silently behind him. He sat, clutching the shrunken trunk to his chest, and tried very, very hard not to think of all that he was leaving behind. 

…………… 

“So who was she?” asked Sirius as they got into bed that night. They hadn’t slept in separate beds since Sirius had gotten out of Azkaban; it helped them both with the nightmares though had resulted in a few awkward mornings and several of the coldest showers of Remus' life. Still, Remus thought reasonably, it wasn’t a problem as long as they didn’t discuss it. He couldn’t imagine trying to sleep without Sirius again; some nights, nightmares of Sirius back in Azkaban or Peter’s laughing face over Lily and James’ bodies would wake him up drenched in cold sweat and he’d cling to Sirius until he felt reassured that he was no longer, and never would be, so totally alone again. Now he shrugged, slipping on an old t-shirt and pressing his cold feet against Sirius’ warm calves. Sirius yelped and scooted away. 

“Begone, frozen werewolf,” he said, making the sign of a cross. Remus looked at him piteously and sneakily scooted his toes over to Sirius again. 

“Get a pair of socks,” Sirius groused, “or do a charm, you’re a damn wizard.” He cast a warming charm on the blankets but still allowed Remus to press his toes against Sirius’ legs. Remus sighed contentedly. 

“So who was she?” Sirius asked again, his voice very badly attempting a casual tone. Remus shifted over to look at him. 

“Sibylle?” he asked. Sirius nodded. Remus sighed. “Remember, in the summer before third year, how I went to Genoa with my Dad? For some kind of treatment?” 

“Yeah,” said Sirius, who looked to have relaxed immediately. Remus continued. “She’s a muggleborn, she was fleeing the rise of blood-purism in Germany. She was in love with some muggle film producer and had acted in one of his movies, I forget what it’s called. She and her friend stayed at the same magical hostel as Da and I and she used to play guitar and sing in the evenings,” Remus smiled. “She wrote me a song, even.” Sirius shook his head. 

“What?” he asked, and Sirius shrugged. 

“Sometimes I forget that you’ve, you know, had experiences,” he said softly. Remus looked at him in confusion. 

“I mean,” said Sirius, “you traveled and met people instead of just staying cooped up in some fancy villa or bollocksing around. You know all sorts of things about magic and the world and all I know is,” he waved a hand, no longer looking at Remus, “this stuff. Britain. France. It’s ridiculous.” Remus wasn’t sure what to say, so he kicked Sirius. 

“Ow,” Sirius said, and Remus sat up to look directly into his eyes. 

“Sirius Black,” he said calmly, “you are the most magical person I know. You are practically saturated in magic. You leak it everywhere. You speak Latin, French, and Russian and you may pretend otherwise but you understand the stars almost as well as a goddamn centaur so don’t you dare feel bad for yourself. We’re twenty-two. We have plenty of time to travel and meet people, okay?” 

Sirius looked mollified, even a little abashed. “All right all right, no need to be a girl about it Moony,” he grouched, flicking off the lights. Still, as Remus settled back into bed, Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus and pressed his legs to Remus’ cold toes. It was, for Sirius Black, an excellent thank-you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song, by the way, is 'Tonight' from 'The Colour Green'. If anyone has headcanons/things they'd like to see/ships they want in future chapters, let me know!! I've begun to flesh out the next seven parts of the series.....


	13. Hallowe'en

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh Spooky Chapter 13! Alternative titles for this chapter are: So You Thought The Angst Was Over, Remus and Sirius Get Drunk, and McGonagall Could Have Done Well In Slytherin. Yes, I did research the lunar cycles of 1981 and 1982. You’re welcome. Also, many warnings. So many warnings. Basically there’s angst, drinking, arguing, smoking, werewolf-typical self-mutilation, loss, grief, sexual implications— there’s also a lot of sweetness and happiness in this chapter!!! I promise!! Also, if ANYONE knows ANYTHING about ‘literal game’ please let me know because i’ve only ever seen it in the fic 'Literal Game' by copperbadge and it sounds bloody fantastic, I’ve played it (or at least my best approximation of it) with my friend a few times and it’s incredible

The first Halloween was looking to be horrible. Properly horrible. Drown yourself in the bathtub horrible. Drink an entire bottle of fire whisky horrible. Drink two, maybe. Remus would always remember it with the special revulsion he reserved for a dementor attack or a month with two full moons. 

Sirius, the useless bastard, spent three days as a dog and had refused to leave Harry’s side, not until the second of November after the full moon had set and despite the Wolfsbane Remus had woken up gasping with pain with deep cuts down his side, unable to keep himself from clawing at himself with the horror and sadness of being alone and separated from Harry on a night like this. Sirius, greasy-haired with dark circles under his eyes, had walked in and cried out at the sight of him, wrapping him in a blanket and rubbing his back whispering _I’m here, Moony, I’m so sorry, I’m here._

____

……

Remus hadn’t noticed it approaching, at first. He didn’t pay much attention to dates: he’d hated it as a kid, associated calendars with the morbid countdown to the night he would be locked in a cage in his parents’ basement. Sirius had given him a lunascope in fourth year, a really horrible one for old-fashioned witches that would squawk things like “half moon, the plangentines’ll be ripe for picking!” because he’d known that Remus would only accept such an expensive gift if it could be passed off as a joke. He’d almost chucked it after Sirius had gone to Azkaban, but couldn’t, not even out of grief or anger or love. No matter what it cost him, it would always be better to hear the shrill voice of the lunoscope wake him the morning before the full with “MOON WATER WON’T CHARM ITSELF” than to forget to lock himself up and hurt someone. 

So Remus didn’t bother with dates. Moons with Harry were alright; the wolfsbane made it easier to just curl up and sleep and a charm kept anyone but Padfoot from entering or exiting the tent on the full. Harry would spend the night in the Dursley’s spare bedroom just in case and Padfoot would check up on them alternately. None of them would get much rest, but Sirius would always do a full fry up the next morning complete with pancakes for Harry and rashers of bacon for Remus and then they’d generally all fall asleep in the main room, Harry with one of his hands knotted with Remus’ shirt and the other clutching Padfoot’s ear. Someday they would have to explain, but for now it was simply a part of life. Hallowe’en, though. Hallowe’en needed explanation. 

That morning began as normally as mornings in the tent ever did. “Goo-ood morning Snidge-a-widget” Remus heard Sirius say in a revolting sing-song voice as he walked into Harry’s room. Remus grinned fondly, hearing a high-pitched shout in excitement. He walked in, his joints aching with the approaching full, and saw boy and dog tussling on the floor, Padfoot evidently trying to get Harry out of his pyjamas. 

“Morning pumpkin,” he said, walking to the dresser for the muggle clothes that Harry was outgrowing more quickly than Remus’ trips to the shops could keep up with. He cast a slight engorgement charm on the first shirt he saw, and then frowned. 

“Sirius, he can’t wear this,” he said, and the dog cocked his head. 

“Sirius this is your old Led Zeppelin t-shirt shrunk down,” he tried again, and Sirius was suddenly sitting on the ground with a shrieking toddler squashed under his leg. 

“Sorry sprog,” he said to Harry, and Harry tried to squirm out from under him, cackling at the new game. “Never too young to be punk, Moony.” 

Remus rolled his eyes and dug for another shirt. He was not a Zeppelin fan— getting elbowed in the face at a concert once was plenty of times, thank you very much— and neither, to his relief, was Harry. Ever since they’d gotten the records from Gringotts, Remus and Sirius had been good-naturedly competing over shaping Harry’s music taste. To their mutual disappointment he seemed to prefer the quieter stuff Lily had played him as a baby to anything the marauders had listened to at Hogwarts. 

_Lily ___. The more time he spent with Harry, the less he found himself thinking of Lily and James whenever he saw the bright green eyes and tousled black hair that had sent him into paroxysms of grief only weeks ago. He wondered if Sirius felt the same, but they had only just begun to talk about Lily and James to Harry, let alone each other. With Harry it was easy: he was bright and curious and only very rarely sad. It made talking about Lily and James feel more like telling a bedtime story than thinking about their own cruel, broken history.

____

No, Remus decided to push the thought from his mind and follow Harry and Sirius to breakfast. He had just popped out, albeit stiffly, to see if Vernon had left to visit his sister yet— it was always better when Sirius and Vernon saw each other as little as possible— when he noticed a set of carved pumpkins on the steps to the house across the street. 

“Tacky, isn’t it,” Petunia sniffed derisively, and Remus barely registered that she had just exited the house, “Americans.” 

“I…” Remus faltered, feeling queasy, “what um. What day is it?” Petunia glowered at him. 

“Saturday,” she said, and Remus took a deep breath. 

“Of the month,” he specified, and Petunia rolled her eyes. 

“The thirtieth,” she said, and then added in a furtive hiss, “honestly does your kind not have calendars.” 

“Ah,” said Remus, as blood began to pound behind his ears, “ah. Thank you. Lovely pumpkins. Cheers. Goodnight.” 

“It’s daytime,” Petunia was saying, but Remus walked into the tent without another word to her. He found Sirius and Harry at the table, Harry happily munching on dragon crackers chattering eagerly and Sirius, sitting with the newspaper in hollow silence, looked up at him with eyes that held the absolute gaze of death and said “Happy Hallowe’en, Moony.”

……

A week passed, Remus recovering from his wounds and Sirius recovering from something equally deep and painful. No matter how much they tried to stay cheerful for Harry’s sake, neither Remus nor Sirius had been able to muster enough energy to do anything but watch him from where they were parked, semi-permanently, on the sitting room couch. They wouldn't let him out of their sight for a moment, bringing him into their bed to sleep, and they refused to leave the tent; from the sound of it, several messenger owls had taken up residence in the garden but whether this was true, Sirius and Remus neither knew nor cared. 

They awoke unusually late one morning, a week after the full exactly, panicking as they realised that Harry was no longer in bed with them. 

“Fuck,” said Remus, “fuck fuck fuck Sirius wake up Harry’s gone.” 

Sirius shot up. “Harry,” he yelled, panicked. He sprang up out of bed with Remus close behind, both only in their pyjama bottoms with their wands drawn. In the main room they saw Harry in his high chair eating dragon crackers and chattering nonstop to a cat that had seated itself at the table beside him. As they walked in, the cat morphed into Minerva McGonagall. Harry did not seem particularly fussed; he went back to his crackers which flapped their tiny wings ineffectively.

“He’s gotten much bigger,” said Minerva approvingly. Remus and Sirius gaped at her. 

Harry, at the sound of her voice, looked up at them beaming and waved, pointing at Minerva. “Meow,” he said, solemnly. She smiled at him benevolently. 

“I thought the two of you could use a night off,” she continued, and Sirius glared at her, going to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“No,” he said, “no bloody way am I letting him out of my sight.” Remus nodded tightly and McGonagall quirked an eyebrow at the both of them. 

“What do you think Harry,” she asked, turning to the two-year-old. Harry looked her quizzically. 

“Crackers?” he asked, and she accepted one politely, indicating towards Remus and Sirius. 

“Don’t you think these two need a holiday?” she asked, and Harry frowned. 

“Moony?” he asked, uncertainly, and Remus immediately went over to pick him up, clutching him tightly. 

“No,” he said, and Harry squirmed around, evidently wishing to return to his breakfast. Minerva sighed. 

“Harry wouldn’t you like to spend a night with Auntie Minerva?” she asked him, and he looked at her brightly. 

“Yes please!” he said, squirming still more. “Down, Moony!” Remus released him. 

“Meow!” Harry said, tugging on Minerva’s robes. She picked him up and sat him on her lap where he began to play with his crackers again. 

“Minerva—“ Remus began, but she held up a hand to silence him. He felt cross that she would come, on this of all weeks, and treat them like overworked students. 

“This isn’t studying for NEWTS,” he said, and Minerva’s lips thinned. 

“No it most certainly isn’t,” she said in a very clipped tone. Remus shrank slightly. 

“You are both young and you are both grieving,” she said, “and you know perfectly well that he will be as safe with me as with you.” The implication of ‘if not safer’ hung in the air: Remus knew logically that she, a teacher and much senior witch, was a more experienced protector than he or Sirius. Still, he felt a wave of fury that could not be pressed down. He glowered at the floor. 

“Yeah, and we thought he was safe in protection with Lily and James,” growled Sirius, and Remus wanted to hit him or something, anything to stop the wave of pain that washed over him at the mention of Lily and James. They had not said the names aloud since Hallowe’en. “If someone comes, I want to be right goddamn here. I want to kill them personally or die trying.” 

Remus nodded in complete agreement. Minerva was still regarding them cooly. 

“You are not the only people to have ever lost someone,” she said in a tone of voice that left no room for argument. “I know your pain and your guilt, do not presume to think I don’t. I am telling you, not requesting, that you need the night away from this place to deal with your grief. It is in Harry’s best interest, as well as your own. You have half an hour to pack and decide where to go. I will be taking Harry to the park until then, by which time you will be gone. Am I understood?” 

Sirius continued to argue with her, but Remus couldn’t handle the tension and anger; he felt silly and fragile and stupid and knew that however afraid and upset he was, she almost always knew best. He picked up Harry and set him on the bed with his stuffed dog while he packed a pair of robes for himself and for Sirius in the extended rucksack in case they decided to go to the wizarding world. He dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a jumper, brushing his teeth and wondering if he had the energy to shower; no, he thought, not really. 

He walked back to the bedroom and put a bag of wizard money in the rucksack, tucking his muggle wallet in as well along with two toothbrushes, a hairbrush, toothpaste, and, after a moment’s hesitation, tobacco and some rolling papers. He packed a book for himself and another for Sirius, though he knew that Sirius would make fun of him for it. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he returned to fetch his godson and returned to the sitting room to play quietly on the floor with a worried-looking Harry until Minerva and Sirius returned. Sirius looked resigned and Minerva looked exasperated, but neither were shouting anymore. Sirius stalked into their room and came back in muggle clothes, nodding to Remus before picking up Harry and giving him a kiss on the nose. 

“Moony and Padfoot will be home soon, Snitch,” he said in a creaky voice, “we love you so much. Be good for Auntie Minerva.” He sniffed, putting Harry down. Remus kissed him too. 

“See you soon, Pumpkin,” he promised, and then squared his shoulders and followed Sirius out onto Privet Drive before he could loose his nerve. 

…… 

“What do you want to do?” Remus asked, dully. The two were sitting at the park on the corner of Magnolia Crescent, smoking— a habit, Remus thought guiltily, that they had given up since stealing Harry. Sirius glowered. 

“Go home,” he said, and his voice cracked on the word. 

“Home,” Remus repeated, and shivered in the sudden wind. Sirius was shrugging out of his leather jacket, seemingly deaf to Remus’ arguments. 

“Shuddup Moony I’m warm blooded,” he said, rolling another cigarette. “Think McG was serious about Confounding us and dumping us in muggle London if we tried to come back before tomorrow afternoon?” he asked as Remus grudgingly put on his jacket. Remus nodded. 

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” he said gloomily. Sirius scowled. 

“Want to go fight an erumpent?” he asked. Remus shook his head. 

“Go to a pub?” Sirius said. Remus was briefly tempted, but if Sirius was going to get drunk in public then he’d have to stay sober enough to keep him from doing magic. Remus really, really did not want to be the only sober one tonight. He shook his head again and took a moody pull on his cigarette. 

“We could go get pissed at Alphard’s?” Sirius pressed, and Remus nearly cried with relief.

“Fuck yes,” he said, with feeling. Sirius bared his teeth in a forced approximation of a grin. 

“Then Soho it is,” he said, and they disapparated with a crack. As they appeared in front of the flat they shared an uncomfortable look; it was the first time they’d been back in over a year. Remus had just moved out before Sirius went to Azkaban after a terrible fight over secrets and lies and he hadn’t returned after Sirius had been released; Dumbledore had brought over their things to Number Five and they hadn’t asked any questions about their respective flats. 

“Weird,” Sirius muttered after doing the keyspell and disarming the various magical protections on the place. Remus echoed him fervently. They lit the lamps together and poked around in the kitchen for the wine and whiskey Alphard had stocked in the temperature-charmed cabinet beside the wood stove. 

“Red, Moony?” he asked, handing a dusty and likely very expensive bottle to Remus, who took it. Sirius grabbed another and uncorked it for himself, taking a long swig as though it was a butter beer. Remus followed suit and they took a few more bottles with them into the sitting room. Waving a wand at the record player in the corner, Sirius played what was ostensibly the last album he’d listened to before going to Azkaban. 

“Screamin’ Jay Hawkins,” Remus asked, with the ghost of a smirk. Sirius grinned darkly. 

_I put a spell on you….. ___Hawkins moaned, _because you’re mine….._

_____ _

……

“Oi, Moony,” said Sirius, several hours and bottles of wine later “want to play Literal Game?” 

Remus looked up at him and wished he hadn’t. Sirius’ pupils were blown with alcohol and he was wearing that languid, almost sultry expression that Remus associated with drunken summer nights at the Potter’s. _You are very beautiful, ___he thought sadly. _I love you very much._

_____ _

“Literal game?” Remus said instead, “I’m drunk and out of practice you silly man I’m not playing Literal Game with you.”

“No, you are,” said Sirius complacently. There was no wheedling or cajoling; Sirius knew that Remus loved Literal Game, that Remus could not refuse Sirius anything when they were drunk. Or sober. Asshole.

“Okay,” said Remus, because he couldn’t say anything else. “You’re starting.” 

Sirius grinned, waving his hand aristocratically at the fire. It dimmed immediately, wandlessly, as if Sirius was so magical that even the elements obeyed his whims. Goddamn Sirius Black. 

“He had a hairy heart they say, the wizard with no witch” Sirius began easily, as though he had been preparing long before he asked, as if he knew all along that Remus would not refuse him. 

 

“And a hairy cock they claimed as well but I’m not one to snitch   
And tall tale he passed it round from mouth to mouth to mouth   
And it tasted like... like... shit bugger and fuck what rhymes with mouth.”

Sirius poured a cap full of fire whisky into his mug   
“Okay, erm, but there was a girl lived in the village a clever sort of witch  
Whose eyes were green as pickled frog and hair as gold as snitch   
And he knew ay once that it was she whom to his hairy heart was key   
And then they were to wedded be a dum diddle diddle dee” 

“Cheater” said Remus, and Sirius picked up his cup. 

“Right and the owls cried and the old man sighed and the trees all shook their boughs   
As the witch and the wizard with a hairy heart went to say their vows   
And the bastard son of a half blood won all the revels in their tourney   
And he travelled far and wide to tell of what he’d seen in his journey   
And old Beedle bled in blood and ink as he cheerfully penned his tell   
And the man who worked in the publishers house said it was sure to sell   
And the rabbit woman on her stump said I’ve got one as well   
The metamorphs and the animae Danced to the light of the moon  
The turtle ran circles round the hare and the cat stole a silver spoon and um shit” 

“Drink!” Cried Remus, and Sirius drank. 

“Oh silver of tongue oh wise of age oh clever as can be   
Tell me the story of the boy who flew to the top of the dirigible tree   
And spied all day and through the night on they the brothers three   
He was the boy of age untold who lived behind a star   
And he watched death greet the brothers as they traveled from afar” 

Sirius paused, then poured himself another shot. 

“A half-man and a huntsman were buggering in the wood  
And the huntsman breathed through mask of green and said wasn’t that good   
I couldn’t tell said the half man..uh,” Sirius picked up the mug, clearly thinking hard.  
“And the owl swam in the silver sea and the cat ran to the hood.  
The wisest witch I ever knew married a muggle in may,  
and they say her children will be squibs if they ever see the day.  
Who ate my crups and all...all my...fuck” he drank, wincing. “I give up, you go.” 

Remus grinned at him, smugly. “There was a king lived in the east who fled from Midus’ golden feast and the Golden Fleece on Jason’s tree glowed bright as Snidgets on the sea oh best beloved. When the stars threw spears and heaven wept the lion in the jungle slept and the village sighed in lovely rest for the Godric’s children were the best and they left gifts of rosemary and thyme for the man in the moon and in his long lost time...” 

“Can’t rhyme homonyms” sang Sirius, and Remus stuck his tongue out, pouring a shot into his own mug. 

“Gatsby lived in the west egg side and his lover lived away, and he saw not heard not hide or hair till she came to him one day, said is it you my tin soldier in the children’s war who fought and he said tis I who wandered by in a time that time forgot.” 

“What’s that got to do with the man in the moon?” Sirius blurted, and Remus scowled at him. 

“Cheater,” he groused, but picked up the cup.

“Right, so the lovers met in starry groves and under clouds and climes and they wished that they had been around when there were better times. The cat sang songs of mournful days and the owl sang much better, but the lovers two wished that instead he'd fly to deliver some odd letter, that would their passions blessed be oh best beloved know, that they lived in sin of adultery but oh he loved her so. And the angel of the morning cried and the trees with ears upon them spied and they never the wedding knot had tied but they were wedded to each other. So eat and drink and as you think of the love you won’t deny, wait not you watery lovers for the move of earth and sky. Hold fast little bird and hold your head boldly run ragged my wolf my darling my only and sunshine come another day I like instead the rain, and when they look at Moony, me, they’ll say he isn’t sane. But I’ve got a love and a love that’s true so stir me a hot strong cauldron and I’ll feast on beets and leaves of grass until I’m spoiled rotten.” 

“Slant rhyme!” cried Sirius, and Remus drank. 

“It doesn’t actually have to rhyme,” he said, wincing as the fire whisky burned his throat. Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“You already drank for a homonym” he said, “which is a literary device, really, nearly a pun if you think about it, anyway you always insist we rhyme”

“Point.” 

“Stop stalling!” 

“Okay, bugger, feast. So Moony man and his silly clan ran through the forests of old. And he thought oh Merlin help me for I’ve never been this bold. And an old man led a child through the roots of a wild tree, and another man with a wooden leg spun his Magic eye to see. Oh a slippery day it was one may when the boy left the tree alone, but the house he lived in the brightest nights was still said to moan. Perhaps a ghost did take up roost to replace the werewolf’s haunting, but to follow an act of flesh and bone would doubtless be quite daunting. So house fell down and the boy grew old and tired and stiff of limb. And he thought the ways he was loved those days were sure to follow him.” He stopped, seeing the stricken look on Sirius’ face. 

“Shit,” he said, “slant rhyme and um. Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to become, um,” 

“My turn,” said Sirius with a strange look on his face. Remus picked up his mug and drank, just to have something to do with his hands. 

“I met a moony wanderer on the way to London Town  
and as we walked a’whistling he turned to pin me down  
or it was I who lunged for him and kissed with all my might  
and debauch’ed and confused my god he was a pretty sight.  
And the moon cried out and the wolf cried too and I saw him there adrift  
and I thought oh god I kissed this man and he seems pretty miffed  
and for weeks on weeks of silence we walked as though alone  
and I thought his heart was turned from flesh to unforgiving stone.  
Years went by and trees grew up and he got thinner and thinner  
and he looked at me as if I was the sin and he, he was the sinner.  
So he was not my lady fair and I was not his lord  
and after all the love we shared I knew that he abhorred  
what we had been he saw me now all turned to stone and sand  
and shied away as if again his love I would demand.  
I learned my lesson, did my time, pulled from my ass that silver spoon  
and wondered if the love I showed had been a love too soon  
but…” 

“Stop it,” said a voice, and it took a moment for Remus to realise that he had been the one to speak. He felt like he was standing in a tunnel, watching himself and Sirius on the other side of some unbridgeable distance. “Don’t. I can’t. Not with you”

“Shit,” said Sirius, looking suitably ashamed, “Sorry Moony I just…” 

Remus took a struggling breath, staring past Sirius into the wall. “I can’t,” he whispered, “I love you. I love you and I have loved you for so long it’ll kill me, someday, and I can’t bear to have you play with me.” He turned to stare into Sirius’ eyes, hardening his heart. 

“You can’t,” Remus said again, “You can’t. You can’t do this. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops


	14. Requited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn! I know, I know, I did promise at least once. If you’d like to skip the *ahem* sticky bits, I’ve bolded where you should stop reading **(bastard) ******and then begin again **(I love you) ******. Also, tense switching with house elves is hard????? Logistically, there’s a brief interlude of Sirius’ perspective, sorry if it’s confusing!  
>  On a more serious note, no one has commented on it but I wonder if I’m maybe playing down too much the impact of lycanthropy on Lupin’s life. I wanted to take a moment to talk about it before posting this chapter because the chapter is fairly nice and cute and funny and will cheer you up after the notes. I generally think that Remus, while still “sickly”, would be a million times better nourished, cared for, and mentally stable than the (also much older!) Remus we see in the books who has ostensibly spent 12 years in dire poverty and intense mental strain. In this fic he has access to wolfsbane (which, according to JKR, was invented in the mid 70s but totally inaccessible to Remus before teaching at Hogwarts due to its cost). He also has Sirius and Harry, which means a stable income, access to good food and medical care, and emotional support and outlets. For all these reasons, his chronic illness (based, somewhat problematically by JKR, loosely on HIV) is not as extreme in presentation in my series as it is in the books. Still, as a chronically ill person, I want to make this clear: one, even with treatment and access to resources, a chronic illness is very difficult to live with and the discrimination surrounding disability can sometimes be more limiting than the disability itself. Two, chronic illness can define many parts of a person’s life because it’s, well, chronically present. Remus isn’t constantly thinking about his lycanthropy in my representation of his thoughts because he’s had it as long as he can remember and he has a lot of other things going on, but he’s also not not constantly aware of the ways it impacts his day to day life. And neither am I. Part of why I love writing Remus so much is because I am, in many ways, similar to him: at least I strive to be. If anyone has any comments or questions about Remus and lycanthropy or chronic illness in general (I’m fine with sharing specifics but I feel that this isn’t the place) you can comment or message me as diprima.tumblr.com thanks for sticking with me and with Remus; I know I appreciate it very very much <3

“Moony,” Sirius said, sounding strangled. Remus swallowed, hard.

“I don’t mind,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice even, “It’s not like this isn’t enough for me, it’s more than I could ever have dreamed really. I get to wake up and see you every morning, we’re raising Harry together, we’re safe and we have work and it really truly is better than anything I could have imagined so,” he paused to swallow a lump of panic, “so please don’t run off or do something stupid like kiss me because you’re bored or you think I want it, I don’t plan to, I mean I won’t ask you to,”

“Remus,” interrupted Sirius, his voice very odd and strangled, “Remus you stupid sod shut up, I’m not going anywhere. I love you.” 

Remus froze. “What,” he said, thickly.

“You’re so bloody stupid so mind-blowingly unbelievably dense,” Sirius said, sounding furious now, “you thick, daft, dimwitted _troll ___,”

____

____

This, Remus thought faintly, was not exactly what he’d fantasised. 

“I love you,” Sirius was saying, “I _told ___you, I _kissed ___you, seven years ago you stupid man, and then you stopped _talking ___to me and I thought you _hated ___me and that you were _disgusted ___with me, you asinine, fatuous _bastard ___.”

_____ _

_____ _

“You didn’t say!” Remus protested, feeling as though this was all somewhat unfair, “You— you kissed me— MOLESTED ME, more like, I thought you were messing me about for a laugh, I thought James told you…” 

“James KNEW?” Sirius yelled back. It was a good thing there were so many silencing charms surrounding the flat, as they would otherwise be at risk of being overheard across London. “James BLOODY POTTER STUPID GODDAMN VIRTUOUS SOUL OF DISCRETION.” 

Remus felt blood pounding in his ears. “Sirius,” he said softly, but Sirius was too busy being red in the face. 

“I _TOLD ___him I _TOLD ___James I loved you, fifth year you cretinous pea-brained grindylow, I told him and he said ‘oi be gentle with him Sirius he’s our Moony you can’t just mess him about’ and then after Snape— after I— bugger it you know what happened and then it was okay and James said” and here he put on a falsetto that was most unlike any voice Remus had ever heard from James Potter, “ ‘oi, Sirius, it’s almost graduation, you should tell him, I guarantee he wont hate you’ and then you DID hate me, you didn’t look at me for _WEEKS ___you, you…”

_____ _

_____ _

“Berk?” Remus offered weakly, and Sirius glared at him, panting. 

“Don’t you dare,” said Sirius, his breath short, “run away this time or accuse me of doing a bunk, Remus John Lupin. I will never, never leave you. You prick. You absolute **bastard **.”****

********

********

********

********

“You say the nicest things,” said Remus, and Sirius stared at him in fury. Before he could speak, however, Remus launched himself at Sirius and then they were kissing, messily, teeth knocking together and hands desperate, grabbing, clinging. 

For the first time since Lily and James had died, Remus’ mind was gloriously blank. There was nothing but Sirius, that Sirius loved him, wanted him. They stumbled, Remus guiding Sirius roughly and hungrily, shoving him onto the sofa and beginning to undo his buttons. Sirius, unsubtle and ridiculous, tore open Remus’ shirt.

Remus’ mumbled protest was lost in a moan as Sirius’ mouth began to wander down his chest. Pulling him back up, Remus kissed him hard on the mouth and Sirius began fumbling at Remus’ belt. Remus, grabbing his wand from the coffee table, muttered a quick and desperate “ _destringo ___” and helped Sirius to pull off his own shirt as he kissed and bit along Sirius’ neck and ear.

____

____

Sirius arched with the movement, pressing himself against Remus and moaning in a way that Remus had never dared imagine Sirius could moan. He searched blindly, desperately for the zip on Sirius’ trouser, rocking against him, moaning obscenities into Sirius’ mouth. Sirius, who was grinding up against him, Sirius, whose nails were digging into his back, beautiful, brilliant Sirius Black, his Sirius, moaning Remus’ name and looking into his eyes with his pupils blown, his face flushed, wrecked, debauched, gorgeous, his hands everywhere. There was fumbling for wands and charms that Remus had not used in years and it was all so much better than he remembered or imagined. When Remus came he felt Sirius spasm around him, felt the tightening and release of his body with Remus’ body as closely as he would if they shared the same skin. 

**“** **I love you ******,” whispered Sirius. Remus kissed him softly in response and pressed his forehead against Sirius’, closing his eyes.

********

********

“Me, too, love, you,” he murmured back. For a few moments they just laid in shocked exhaustion. _Sirius, ___Remus thought giddily, _Sirius loves me. ___And then he thought, _what next? ___

_____ _

_____ _

He pushed himself up gingerly and cast a few basic cleaning spells before making his way over to the first bedroom down the corridor. When Remus reached the door he turned to see Sirius watching him from the couch with a nervous sort of expression. 

“Well?” he asked, sounding far calmer than he felt, “aren’t you coming? 

“Just did,” said Sirius with a wink. Remus rolled his eyes and felt the world spin a bit. 

“Come on you tosser,” he said, clumsily rummaging about for his wand “it’s..” he checked cast a quick _tempus ___charm. “It’s three in the morning, we can go back home in nine hours.” Sirius grinned.

____

____

“Good old McGoogles,” he said, fondly. “She really does know best.” 

“Yeah,” Remus said as the two of them scooted under the covers. Sirius curled around him and pressed his face into Remus’ spine, which was not new but which certainly felt more than it had before. Remus gave a long, contented sigh. 

“Y’know,” said Sirius, muffled and slurring slightly, “I think Harry is really ace.” Remus snorted a laugh. 

“Me too, Pads,” he said, and it was true. 

“No,” Sirius insisted, “I think he’s really really ace. Not ‘cuz he’s James or Lily or even ‘cuz he’s ours. He’s just…aces.” 

“Yeah,” said Remus, grinning at the word ours, “he’s really really ace.” 

….. 

 

Sirius did not feel quite as ‘ace’ when he awoke the next morning with the distance feeling that doxies had come to nest in his brains and that at least one of them had shit in his mouth. _Red wine drunk, ___he thought with a scowl of pain, and staggered out of bed to piss and then vomit and then hopefully find a hangover potion.

____

____

He was naked, which was not in and of itself unusual, but when he turned back to the bed he realised that Remus, too, was naked, totally bare-ass naked, and he remembered with a sudden shock clarity the events of the previous night. 

“ _Merlin’s most baggy y fronts ___,” he said with feeling, and then felt a swell of joy threaten to strangle him. He felt very odd; happy, scared, confused. Hungover. Bathroom. Potion. Right. He stumbled out, still naked, into the main area of the flat.

____

____

“Is Master Sirius needing anything?” squeaked a voice from the vague region of Sirius’ knees. Sirius yelped, his hands flying to his bits, and the resulting pain in his head nearly knocked him over momentarily. 

“It is Pippy, sir!” continued the voice, and Sirius looked down blearily at his uncle’s old house elf. 

“Oh, er, Pippy,” he said guiltily, realising that he hadn’t spared the elf a thought since the night he was carted off to Azkaban, “er, been alright have you then?” 

Pippy was positively glowing with happiness, her pointed ears perked high above her nearly spherical head. 

“Yes Master Sirius sir!” she said, and Sirius winced at the register of her voice, “Pippy is working in the Hogwarts kitchens sir, Headmaster Dumbledore is employing Pippy after Master Sirius is going away.” She continued to beam at him. “But Pippy is not abandoning Master Alphard’s house no sir! Pippy is keeping an eye on the apartment for Master Sirius sir and is hoping he is coming home soon!” 

Sirius thought it was all a bit early in the morning to process this. He squinted around, taking in the gleaming surfaces and freshly plumped coach, no sign of last night’s debauchery in sight. “Thanks Pippy,” he said, desperately wishing for some trousers, “er, any chance you’ve got..” 

“Hangover potion sir!” said Pippy, handing him a vial. Sirius gulped it down, cringed at the taste, and felt instantly better. 

“Pippy, you’re a charm,” he said with relief, “could you find another for Remus?” Poppy looked positively apoplectic with joy. 

“Master Remus is here, Master Sirius?” she squeaked, her eyes filling with tears as she clasped her hands and rocked back on the balls of her feet. Sirius would never fully understand house-elves, but in the case of their general love of Remus he was completely and totally sympathetic. 

“He is indeed,” he said, unable to repress his grin, “in the master bedroom.” Poppy bounced off towards the potions cupboard before Sirius remembered what he had been looking for. 

“Pippy,” he called, and she was back in a flash. “Have you seen my clothes?” 

……..

Sirius had rather hoped to skip the whole overthinking part of the affair, but had no real expectations of such. Remus Lupin was a master over-thinker. Remus could out-over-think a demiguise, could come up with more doom-and-gloom predictions over the course of a single meal than Professor Delphine could in an entire year of Divination. So it was a real surprise that Remus, when he came out for breakfast making a sour face almost certainly over the taste of hangover potion, was not silent or awkward or even apparently remotely distressed. He, instead, came to stand behind Sirius at the stove and wrapped his long arms around Sirius’ waist, giving Sirius a soft kiss on on the soft stretch of skin beneath his ear, and rested his chin on Sirius’ shoulder with a little contented sigh. Which was amazing. It was. And confusing.

“Play us some music?” Sirius asked, turning to kiss him on the mouth. The kiss was, in and of itself, a question— whether or not Remus realised it, he responded by kissing him back slowly but with clear enthusiasm. Sirius groaned slightly as he turned back to the stove but even as he began to fry the tomatoes Remus pressed him against the counter and kissed languidly along the collar of his shirt, grinding his hips slightly into Sirius’ backside.

“What kind of music do you want?” he asked, and Sirius pulled himself together so as not to burn the breakfast. 

“NOT Simon and Garfunkel or Nico or Nick Drake or any of those other pansy-ass ones we play for the kid,” he said. Remus laughed. 

“Not even Me and Julio Down By The Schoolyard?” he teased— Harry’s current favourite. Sirius glared at him unconvincingly. 

“Bowie?” Remus offered. Sirius pondered it. 

“Too 1973,” he said. Remus shook his head. 

“Bowie is timeless,” he said, going to rifle through the records that Dumbledore had left at the flat, “Jeff Buckley?” 

“You just want to shag him.” 

“Point.” 

“Play, I dunno, Nina Simone.” Remus looked up at him in shock, and Sirius grinned. 

“I love Nina Simone,” Remus said quietly, “it’s been ages, do we even…” 

“I have ‘Broadway-Blues-Ballads’ somewhere in there,” he said, feeling a thrill at the word ‘we’. Remus actually beamed, and Sirius wondered if it would ruin the mood if he told Remus that he had bought the record in anticipation of Remus’ twenty-first birthday, before they’d fought and the Potters had gone into hiding. 

“My favourite!” Remus crowed as he found the record. He pulled it out of the album sleeve and setting it on the gramophone with a flick of his wand. 

“ _If I seem edgy, I want you to know, I never mean to take it out on you ___” crooned Nina Simone, “ _Life has its problems and I get more than my share but that's one thing I never mean to do ‘cause I love you….. oh baby I'm just human don't you know I have faults like anyone? ___”

_____ _

_____ _

“But I'm just a soul whose intentions are good,” Sirius sang along, feeling Remus’ eyes on him, “Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood”

He flipped the eggs and tomatoes off the pan and onto the plates while Remus used his wand to toast the bread and reheat the tea. It was nice; calm even, if Sirius ignored the thrill and worry that threatened to overcome him. He was not very good at being the over-thinking one, and he felt mildly betrayed by Remus, who did not appear to be overthinking things at all. Remus was shoving eggs and toast into his mouth with singleminded intensity of a teenage boy, pausing only to moan his appreciation to Sirius. 

“God before Harry I had no idea you had this… this potential,” he said, skewering a sausage. 

“You only love me for my sausages,” said Sirius, and Remus winked at him. Sirius, to his chagrin, flushed. “Filthy man,” he said, pointing a fork at Remus, “corruptor of my youth.” 

Remus had the audacity to laugh. “Wasn’t that Mary MacDonald?” he said innocently. Sirius lobbed a stewed tomato at him. 

“Slander and lies,” he said, because it wasn’t. “And you, Master Moony? Who deflowered the angel of the Merry Marauders?” 

“Cardoc Dearborn, fifth year,” said Remus smugly. Sirius actually fell off his chair. 

“No!” he gasped, “you slag! You never said!” 

“What, that I was a raging poof as well as a werewolf?” Remus said, with a little smile. Sirius shook his head like Padfoot trying to dislodge water from his ears. 

“I…” he spluttered, “but you and… and that Ravenclaw bird…”

“For the last time,” he sighed, “Dorea Edgecomb and I were just friends. I mean,” he added thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’m opposed. To girls— women— I guess. It’s the eighties, we’re all a bit bisexual hmm?” 

Sirius frowned into his toast. “Not me,” he said. Remus stared at him. 

“What?” he asked, “but— all the girls—“ 

Sirius shrugged. He had spoken with James about it, once or twice. How the way he’d felt with Mary or any of the girls he’d gotten off with wasn’t ever quite right, how his admiration of Kingsley Shacklebolt went perhaps a bit further than skill on the Quidditch Pitch. Remus put a hand on Sirius’. 

“I didn’t know,” he said softly, “I felt it, but I didn’t trust myself to know. I thought… I thought I wanted you so much that I made it all up in the confusion. I’ve wanted you since fourth year, maybe even third. Nothing could make me forget you, and it wasn’t for lack of trying but Sirius— nothing has ever felt as— as right as it did last night.”

Sirius stared at him. “Third year?” he hissed, thinking of how it had taken him months, years of frustration and confusion and very embarrassing dreams to realise that his love from Remus extended past the platonic. He stared at Remus, who continued to eat. Clearly a shag had been exactly what he had needed— and Sirius as well, though the boneless relief of last night had left him that morning and he was now overcome with frenetic energy. 

“How are you being so calm?” he said, and Remus looked up from his eggs. “I feel like I could fly, or like I might explode. I think I’m dying, Moony, and you’re eating toast!” Remus’ face split into a grin. 

“I trust it,” he said, “Merlin, it just makes sense doesn’t it? I feel,” he seemed to struggle for words, “like it’s always been like this. You and I. After all this time of not believing it…” he giggled. 

“Can I show you my patronus?” he asked, and Sirius frowned. 

“I’ve seen your patronus, dickhead,” he said. Remus shook his head. 

“I don’t send messages with them, just the shimmery bit,” he reminded. Sirius opened his mouth to argue and then closed it, realising Remus was right. 

“I thought..” he said, frowning, “well, I don’t know mate, I thought it was a wolf or something embarrassing. I’m sure I saw it once, great hulking thing, that time in Blackwell Hall in ’79.” Remus seemed a bit nervous; he blushed. 

“Remember how bad Lily and I were at doing the charm at first?” he asked, and Sirius remembered being back in the Defence classroom in seventh year, casting his first Patronus with James and rolling over laughing at the Newfoundland and the stag that had bounded around the classroom. 

“Bit fitting, given your nicknames,” someone had commented, and they’d practically cried from laughter, only later noticing that Remus and Lily had been standing together in a corner, producing only small wisps of silver smoke. 

“It was a hard year for you both,” Sirius said, “we never thought any less of you.” Remus smiled at him gently. 

“We went back to the classroom that night to practice,” he said, “and it took us hours, but we managed it. Remember how humiliated she was when she admitted after graduation that hers was a doe?” 

Sirius laughed. “James nearly had a fainting spell, I thought I was going to have to nick Delphine’s smelling salts.” It was the first time he’d allowed himself to think about them, not just as stories for Harry but as people he loved. He had loved. The smile slipped. 

“I promised her I wouldn't tell before she was ready. Anyway,” Remus blushed, fiddling with his hands, “um, mine wasn’t, er, very subtle either,” he continued nervously, “but… well… _expecto patronum ___!”

____

____

A stream of silver light took off running into the air and circled back to them, barking and wagging its tail. Padfoot, silver and shaggy as Sirius’ own patronus. Sirius felt a swoop of joy replaced by blessed relief go through him like a cheering charm. Proof. Incontrovertible proof that Remus would not hate him this time, that Remus loved him. 

“You…” he whispered, “me?” 

“I tried to convince myself it was a wolf,” Remus admitted, “but I think not. It’s you, Sirius. It’s always been you.” 

Sirius, toast forgotten, stood up abruptly from the table and hugged Remus very, very tightly. 

“I love you,” he mumbled into Remus’ freshly-laundered jumper. Remus gave him a soft kiss on the top of his ear. 

“I know,” he mumbled, “you bloody poof.” Sirius, deciding that was quite enough emotional maturity for one day, transfigured Remus’ socks into spiders and ran away shrieking as Remus drew his wand to retaliate. It was nearly noon when they were finally ready to return to Privet Drive. 

Pippy had made herself scarce since Remus had woken but she reappeared as they prepared to leave. Her eyes were wide and sad, dejectedly tugging at her massive ears. 

“G-g-g-goodbye, Sirs,” she quavered, and Remus turned to look at Sirius with a desperately guilty expression. 

“Er, Pippy,” Sirius said awkwardly, “we’re, erm, well we’re covered during the week so please continue at Hogwarts but perhaps you could come over on the weekends and help us out…. at the other place. It’s not very big— just a tent actually, ha ha but, we could use another, um, pair of hands.” He snuck a furtive look at Remus nodded, looking pleased. Pippy’s eyes shone with tears. 

“Pippy is coming every weekend Sirs!” she promised, “and Pippy is keeping up Master Alphard’s place for Master Sirius and Master Remus for whenever they is needing it and Pippy is cooking casserole for Sirs to keep under cooling charm so Sirs can simply heat whenever Sirs is needing food— or Sirs is calling Pippy anytime, anytime at all!” 

“Thank you very much, Pippy,” said Remus politely, and Sirius echoed him. They laced their hands together tightly and, with a spin, disapparated.” 

…… 

Harry was sitting in his playpen, watching with interest as Minerva McGonagall transfigured various objects into animals and made silly faces at him. He was just reaching for a hedgehog when Remus and Sirius walked in the door. 

“Snitch!” yelled Sirius, and Harry looked up in delight. 

“PADFOOT!” He bellowed, pushing himself to a standing position. Sirius and Remus picked their way between various woodland and a few exotic creatures, Remus pausing to admire a quite realistic-looking murtlap. 

“Thanks Minerva,” he said, going to give Harry a kiss. Harry was sitting on Sirius’ hip now, babbling excitedly about the past evening. Sirius, nodding with interest, wrapped an arm around Remus’ waist as Remus nuzzled his face against Harry’s shoulder. Harry giggled, smacking at him good-naturedly. 

“Gentle,” he reminded Harry, and Sirius snorted. 

“Uncle Moony is a bit of a hypocrite, hey Haz?” He cooed, and Remus flushed. Minerva cleared her throat slightly, reminding them of her presence, and Remus turned to her, jumping guiltily away from Sirius. 

“Er, thanks,” he said awkwardly, “for the break and the, the advice. We, um, we needed that.” Minerva smirked at him. 

“I could tell,” she said primly. “I expect I will see the two of you for tea soon? Elphinstone is eager to meet young Harry.” 

Sirius frowned at her. “Elphinstone?” he asked. 

“Her husband,” explained Remus, and Sirius shot them both a look of wounded betrayal. 

“McG,” he said tragically, “I can’t believe you’d do this to me! You are the only woman I could ever love!” 

“That, I believe,” she said dryly, and Remus laughed. She appraised both of them, looking pleased and slightly smug. 

“You look much better,” she said kindly, and Remus felt himself flush. 

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it. She gave them all a peck on the cheek before walking out of the tent to apparate. 

“Think she knows?” Sirius asked, bouncing Harry on his hip. Remus busied himself with un-transfiguring the living room menagerie. 

“No,” he lied, “well, maybe.” Sirius hummed. He didn’t seem very concerned; he even seemed a little pleased. “Didn’t know the old girl had a husband.” 

Remus rolled his eyes. “She’s not very old, for a witch,” he said chidingly, “and I’m sorry I forgot to tell you, she told me the day we got Harry.” 

“That’s right,” Sirius told Harry, who was busy tangling Sirius’ hair “while I was busy hauling everything together so we could kidnap you, Moony over there was having some tea and gossip with Auntie McGoogles.” Harry giggled. 

“Meow!” he said. Sirius beamed. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself Sproggit, absolutely catty. What else do you think Moony’s hiding? The secret affairs of Albus Dumbledore?” 

Remus started to laugh and Sirius waggled his eyes at Remus. “Oooooh, can you imagine? Heartbreak at the wedding? Dumbles in his best robes with his bead braided standing and refusing to forever hold his peace?” Remus laughed even harder, sitting down on the floor and holding his aching ribs as though he’d been hit with a tickling jinx. It was too soon after the moon for all this… strenuous activity, but it was wonderful. Sirius looked perplexed. 

“What?” he demanded, setting Harry down. Harry ran to Remus who calmed himself, pulling the toddler into his lap. 

“Sirius,” he said, as gravely as possible, “You cannot tell. You absolutely cannot tell a soul, you hear?” 

Sirius looked nervous. “Er… am I going to regret this? Is it Sprout? Vector? Oh Merlin tell me it isn’t Professor Delphine, the sly dog…” 

Remus played with Harry’s toes, grinning up at Sirius. “Mate,” he said, “there is something you need to know about Albus Dumbledore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers guys!! I only have two more exams left and I am DONE with IB. Also, may I just say how happy I am to "finally" make this canon as if 14 chapters counts as slow burn. I'm a Sucker for Young Love. Comments, questions, headcanons, ships, and suggestions are highly appreciated <3


	15. Christmas 1982

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not really a songfic, but if you think I’m not taking advantage of 70s and 80s music you are sadly mistaken— also, sorry for the HUGE WAIT it’s been a while but I’ve just finished exams and I’ve been invited to interview at Oxford???????? Holy fuck wish me luck????? Anyway have a looooooooong and fluffy chapter to make up for it.

“Bugger,” muttered Remus, clutching an envelope in his scarred hand. Sirius danced in— literally— with Harry perched on his swinging hip, shrieking with laughter. 

“C’mon whisper in my e-ear give us dir-ty laundry!” he sang loudly, nuzzling his face into Harry’s neck. Harry yelled and bobbed his head off-beat. Remus rolled his eyes. 

“Sirius…” he said fondly, “you silly sod, we’ve got to put him down for bed soon.” 

“S’why I’m tiring him out,” Sirius gasped, and continued singing “kick em when they're up! kick em when they're down!” 

“Moooooony!” yelled Harry who looked much less ‘tired out’ than his godfather did, “Moooooony dance!” 

“Right you are little man,” Sirius said, depositing Harry into Remus’ arms and taking the letter to place it on the front table. 

“You can get back to your pen-friend later you absolute boffin, it's time for dancing,” he said, summoning up a record and setting it on Remus’ massive old gramophone. Remus groaned as the introduction to Led Zepplin’s ‘Black Dog’ began to play. “Fine, fine, just warming it up,” said Sirius lifting the needle and winking at Harry who had covered his ears and was glaring at Sirius. 

“Want nice music!" he demanded, and Remus tickled him, pushing the contents of the letter from his mind. Just as he was starting to relax, a jaunty, horribly familiar tune began to play. Harry, still giggling, began to bob up and down again. 

“Sirius Orion Black..” Remus gritted out, and Sirius raised his hands in innocence, laughing at the fury on Remus’ face. 

“Ah, the poor little chap loves it Moony," he said piteously as Warren Zevon began to sing. 

_I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand_  
_walking through the streets of Soho in the rain_  
_He was looking for the place called Lee Ho Fooks_  
_For to get a big dish of beef chow mein_

“A-hoooo werewolves of London” sang Sirius as Harry imitated his howl, throwing back his head and nearly throwing himself from Remus’s arms, “A-hooooooo” 

“Moooooony dance!” Harry demanded, and Remus obliged for Harry’s sake, feeling very silly as he joined in jerking his hips side to side and, at Harry’s insistence, howling. 

“A-hoooooo werewolves of London,” they sang, Sirius pretending to use his wand as a muggle microphone, “a-hooooo…”

_He's the hairy-handed gent_  
_Who ran amok in Kent_  
_Lately he's been overheard in Mayfair_  
_You better stay away from him_  
_He'll rip your lungs out, Jim!_  
_Hunh, I'd like to meet his tailor_

Sirius sang along, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and Remus watched him with a mix of exasperation, nostalgia, and gratitude. They all sang along to the chorus, Remus warming to the idea and even belting out the howls to Harry’s delight. He hadn’t heard the song in years, but it had followed him throughout 1978 when its release had, to Sirius and James’ delight, coincided with the year he and Sirius had moved to Soho.

_You’re a werewolf of London now, Moony_ , James would laugh, putting the record on for the millionth time. Remus had often gotten very close to breaking it over his head. Now, dancing to it with James’ son in his arms with Sirius making eyes at him, he found himself really enjoying the song. Not that he would ever admit it. 

As it finished, Harry tugged urgently on his shirt. “More dance! More dance!” Remus kissed Harry's nose. 

“Sleep time,” he said brightly, and Harry pouted. 

“No,” he said and Sirius seemed delighted by his belligerence. 

“Moony, this is brilliant," he whispered, “just two months ago he’d have just agreed and just cried a bit after we put him down.” Remus nodded, torn between wanting to get Harry to bed and wanting to give him whatever he wanted. 

“Still gotta sleep pumpkin,” he said and Harry wailed plaintively. 

“Pa’foot! Dance!” he begged, and Sirius looked heartbroken. Remus sighed. 

“If we dance we won’t have time to read a story and sing a song,” he said cajolingly, and Harry brightened considerably. 

“Sto-wy!” he demanded, and Sirius bowed deeply towards the two of them. 

“Messer Moony, Messer Buttons,” he said grandly, and Harry giggled, reaching for him. 

“Buttons?” Remus asked, and Sirius shrugged. 

“It’s what muggle science men call the baby prongs,” he said, and Remus shook his head thoughtfully. 

“Nah, still not right,” he said easily, handing Harry to his godfather. The moment he was in Sirius’ arms, Harry twisted around to look at Remus expectantly. 

“Sto-wy! Mummy Daddy sto-wy!” Remus smiled; James and Lily stories were Harry’s favourites at the moment. 

“Padfoot?” he asked, and Sirius kissed the top of Harry’s head of wild black hair. 

“Bath first I think,” he said as Remus followed him into the bathroom, “and then Moony and Padfoot will tell you about the time Daddy got his antlers stuck in the window of the Hufflepuff locker-room….” 

…… 

By the time they had gotten him snuggled into his crib, Harry was sleepy and warm, mumbling incoherently as Remus and Sirius sat beside the crib and peeked in at him through the bars.

“Give us a song then Moony,” whispered Sirius, and Remus reached a hand through to stroke Harry’s head. He hadn’t sung much outside of the shower at Hogwarts, so only the marauders had known that he had a half-decent voice. He hadn’t had much cause since then, not until Harry had come to them with his night terrors and skittish, hunted eyes. Singing mesmerised him, kept him calm and lulled him to sleep. Remus had begun to suspect that it had the same effect on Sirius, whose Azkaban nightmares and grief had kept them both up even more than Harry’s nightmares. 

He usually sang his mum’s lullabies, all welsh trills and steady melodies, but tonight he was thinking about Lily and James and the songs they had loved.

“ _Please_ ,” he sang softly in his low, hoarse voice, “ _give me a second grace_ ,” Sirius settled himself beside Remus, snuggling into his lap and closing his eyes. Remus began to stroke Sirius’ hair with his free hand. “ _Please, give me a second face, I’ve fallen far down, the first time around, now I just sit on the ground in your way_.” He kissed Sirius’ forehead and Sirius hummed appreciatively.

“ _Now if it's time for recompense for what's done_ ,” he sang on, “ _come, come sit down on, on the fence in the sun. And the clouds will roll by, and we'll never deny, it’s really too hard for to fly_ ,” he paused, closing his eyes and remembering how he’d found Lily playing this in fifth year after his mother’s funeral, how she had held him and they’d listened in comfortable silence. How she had reminded him that she would always be there for him, and how she always had been. He stroked her son’s hair and, for the first time in years, the song did not make him sad. 

“ _Please, tell me your second name,” he continued softly, “please, play me your second game. I’ve fallen so far, for the people you are, I just need your star for a day…_ ”

Sirius had taken his hand and had pressed his lips to Remus’ knuckles. He smiled down softly and met Sirius’ silvery eyes which looked deep and liquid in the dim light coming through the tent flap. 

“ _So come, come ride in my street car by the bay_ ” he sang quietly, “ _For now, I must know how fine you are in your way; and the sea, she will sigh, but she won't need to cry for it's really too hard for to fly…_ ” 

Harry’s breathing was deep and even, and Remus moved in the dark to press his lips against Sirius’. They slipped out of Harry’s room and stumbled into their own bed where they began to kiss slowly, sleepily, luxuriously until kissing was no longer enough and they were so gently, so beautifully connected that in the heady afterglow of climax Remus Lupin thought _this, this is making love_. He drifted off with his arms around Sirius, both of them warm and content and somehow, miraculously, home.

……..

The next morning, Remus rose early and left Sirius in bed. He went to Harry’s room to find Harry giggling, his toys mysteriously no longer in the trunk but in his crib. 

“You, sir, are a powerful wizard,” he told him sternly as he changed Harry’s nappy and set him in his magically high chair for porridge. 

“Tweacle?” Harry asked, his eyes shining and his hands clasped adorably. Remus eyed him suspiciously. 

“When did you learn how to say treacle?” he asked. Harry beamed. 

“Tweacle, peas,” he replied, continuing to twinkle. Remus summoned the treacle and a spoon. As Harry tucked into his breakfast, Remus went to front table to retrieve yesterday’s letter. He made himself some porridge as well (avoiding treacle in favour of honey and strawberries, a magical winter luxury) and sat at the table with Harry. Both Remus and Sirius had taken to calling the tent ‘the house’ recently. It wasn’t exactly a misnomer: two bed, two bath, with a full kitchen and sitting room, it was a bigger house than the one in which Remus himself had grown up. Only the canvas walls and the flaps (oh, how Remus longed for the day Sirius would stop giggling every time he said ‘flaps’) rather than doors gave it away. Tucking the letter in his back pocket, Remus summoned a few of the logs Sirius had brought from Godric-knows-where to sit nearly in the fireplace. A few _incedios_ and a hasty _protego_ later, he and Harry sat with their breakfasts in the main room before the fire, Harry entertaining Remus with a constant stream of mostly-coherent babble. 

“So so so so so Pa’foot eated awl the biscuits an’ an’ an’ you said bad dog! And Pa’foot said no ‘cuz Pippy maded the biscuits for for him an’ an’ an’” Harry floundered and then found his train again, “‘an you said not twue! For all ‘a us’es. So Pa’foot said he making waffles on Sunday for sorry! Is it Sunday?” 

Remus laughed. “Clever lad, we’ll never get anything past you. It’s Tuesday, pumpkin, Sunday is in a few days.” Harry frowned. 

“No good,” he said seriously, “today? Now? Peas?” 

As Remus opened his mouth to argue, Sirius walked in. He was yawning and mussing his hair, beautiful in Remus’ oversized fisherman’s jumper and tracksuit bottoms— Remus leaned back on his elbows and watched him with lazy gratification. 

“WAFFLES” bellowed Harry, finding a more malleable target for his demands. Sirius blinked sleepily at them and then squinted at the toddler blearily. 

“Whose house elf is that,” he asked Remus, and Harry glared in indignation. 

“PAFOOT” he yelled, “NOT ELF! WAFFLES PEAS” 

Sirius laughed and loped over, pulling Harry into a smothering hug despite his protestations and continued demands. Remus kissed his cheek and walked into the kitchen to make some coffee. As Harry and Sirius continued to earnestly discuss the likelihood of waffles—“he’s already eaten, don’t let him trick you he’s worse than Lily’s old cat”— Remus pulled the letter from the pocket of his jeans. 

“Sirius,” he said, handing him the coffee. Sirius gave a moan of appreciation and took a long sip. Remus gave him the letter. 

It was written on muggle paper, much cheaper than parchment, and the handwriting, though slightly shakier than Remus remembered, was unmistakably that of Lyall Lupin. He traced the address on the envelope in his hand, smiling at the un-smudged tracks of ballpoint pen. His mother had put up with a lot of wizard nonsense, but quills were not used in the Lupin household. She had filled Lyall’s desk with ballpoint pens and paper for notes and unofficial correspondence, only allowing parchment and quills for business. With a pang, Remus wondered if Lyall had run out since she died. He shook off the thought. Despite having read it several times, he peeked over Sirius’ shoulder to gauge his reaction to the letter.

_My Dear Remus, it read,_

_Nadolig Llawen to you and to Sirius. I hope this letter finds you well. I’m up to my elbows in paperwork: the ministry has been all over the place these days trying to round up the responsible and hush up the innocent, as I’m sure you are both well aware. No news yet on Greyback I’m afraid, though I’m keeping my ear to the ground as you requested. I appreciated the advice on hiring Lockhart in your last letter: I knew you had gone to school with him and I think you’re very right (if overly kind) that he may be less qualified than he claims. The man is clearly an imbecile. I did, however, follow up on several of his acclaimed “victories” and, as far as I can tell, someone certainly did what he claims to have done (if obviously not the way he describes it)._

_Anyhow, the lupines on Mum’s plot are coming in very nicely. Please thank Sirius for the seeds and tell him I will be retaliating as soon as I find a suitable plant-based pun. I know you can’t tell me what you boys are up to, but it is good to know you’re safe and well looked-after. If you aren’t too busy gallivanting about doing important work for Albus Dumbledore this Christmas, I would love nothing more than to see the two of you for a few days._

_All my love,_  
_Da_

“Blimy, is it nearly Christmas already?” Sirius asked lightly. Remus blinked at him. 

“We forgot your birthday,” he said. Sirius barked out a laugh. 

“Yeah, well, November 3rd is no longer the best time of the year. We’ll just celebrate yours and mine at the same time.” Remus’ stomach flipped guiltily. 

“Trying to hold onto your fleeting youth then, old man?” he asked, managing a smile. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“You young ‘uns, born in the 60s,” he said with a sniff. Remus rolled his eyes. 

“Right,” he said, and Harry grabbed for the letter. “So?” 

“So,” said Sirius. The two of them looked at Harry. 

“I’m not leaving you two on our first Christmas,” Remus said muleishly, and Sirius nodded. 

“‘Course not,” he replied, “who else would steal all the pudding and then blame me. You could go over on Boxing Day?” Remus shook his head. 

“I’m fairly sure that’s going to be our busiest day of the year,” he said, “what with gift curses and creatures. Maybe next year.” Sirius narrowed his eyes at Remus. 

“Bollocks,” he said firmly, “you barely dropped in for tea last year, he’ll think I’ve kidnapped you.” 

“Better than knowing we kidnapped Harry Potter,” Remus argued. Sirius rubbed his temples. 

“Stop using that word,” he said impatiently, “Dumbledore knows, it’s all legal and etcetera.” 

“It’s not,” Remus said, “you haven’t formally gotten custody, you know that!” 

Sirius glared. “Because then that would launch us into the public life, it’d be all over the Prophet! We promised Dumbledore we’d keep mum!” 

“Like you did in Diagon Alley?” he argued. Harry, hearing the tense voices, looked up and began to cry. Remus got up to pick him up but Sirius beat him to it, shushing and murmuring until Harry, subdued, sat quietly in his lap. Remus transfigured his teacup into a squishy ball and handed it to Harry.

“I just mean,” he said more gently, “we have to be subtle about it, we can’t do stuff like that again, it was a madhouse.” Sirius did not look impressed. 

“What, and your Dad is the biggest gossip in wizarding Britain then?” he asked, “I’m sure he already knows, Remus, you saw the paper saying I’ve got Harry, he knows you’re with me.” 

“But he doesn’t know I’m _with_ you, Sirius, and I’m not ready for him to see us and..and..” Remus stared at his hands and took a deep breath. 

“Righto, Prongslet, let’s get you into your pen,” Sirius said, instead of answering. He picked Harry up and carried him to the playpen where he put on some music and cast a muffling charm. He returned to Remus and sat on the couch. Remus made to get up from the floor but Sirius stopped him, angling Remus’ back to himself and beginning to rub his shoulders. 

“I know it’s just been your time of the month, don’t tell me you don’t need this,” he said when Remus began to protest that he was fine. Instead he allowed Sirius to massage his neck and upper back, sighing with relief at the pressure and Sirius’ strangely mature reaction. 

“Are you embarrassed?” Sirius asked, “about us?” Remus sighed. 

“No,” he said, “I mean, not embarrassed but. It’s just another thing for him to worry about, you know? His son, the queer werewolf.” 

Sirius kissed the top of his ear. “There are days when I want to set off fireworks over London,” he said, “saying ‘I love Remus Lupin’. And then there are days when we do a job for someone from school and I want to stay five feet away from you and talk about girls I’ve been seeing and honestly I don’t know _why_.” 

Remus laughed. “I understand,” he said, and he did. There was more, too. 

“I think,” he added after a moment, “I also don’t want to be there like I’m bringing my wife and kids to my father’s house for the holidays.” Sirius laughed. 

“What, don’t you plan on making honest woman out of me, Lupin?” Remus swatted at him half-heartedly. 

“You know what I mean you twat. It’ll feel like we’re trying to be his parents and make Dad his grandfather and like we’re just up and replacing Lily and James and the Potters. I can’t bear to thing of how unfair that would be to them, after all they did for us…” he took a shaky breath and whispered the last, almost hoping he wasn’t saying it aloud, “…and I can’t help but think what piss-poor substitutes we’d be for him.” Sirius stopped rubbing his shoulders, and Remus turned guiltily. 

Sirius, to his surprise, didn’t look angry or tragic or even confused. He looked almost fond. 

“Trust you to turn this into an inadequacy complex,” he said, his tone gentle but ribbing, “of which you already have too many. I’ll spare you the spiel, the one that I have set both to heart and to music, in which I remind you of your above-adequate qualities in alphabetical order, beginning of course with your abnormally large cock—“ 

“Sirius!” he hissed, giggling despite himself. Sirius grinned. 

“…ending, as you know, with your zeal for helping others. But in this case I ask you only one question: would Petunia have been better?” 

Remus shook his head. “You’re missing the point, it’s about if Lily and James…” 

“They didn’t.” Sirius said shortly, “They died. We will never, never take their places and it’s a goddamn tragedy but that doesn’t mean we aren’t the best people for this job. We are his family and we love him and you know what? If that means a couple of poofs for parents and a musically-illiterate Ministry man for a grandad, it is what it is.” 

“My father is not musically illiterate,” Remus argued, half-heartedly. Sirius shook his head. 

“Sorry Moony but the man listens to Emitt Rhodes,” he said. Remus shoved at him. 

“It’s soothing,” he said. He looked at the letter now on the floor. “So?” 

“So tell him we’ll be coming,” Sirius said, “and that we’re bringing our waffle-loving bundle of joy.” 

Remus nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Yes. That sounds. Really good.” Sirius grinned. 

“It does, actually,” he said, “we’ll bring a turkey and Christmas crackers and have a proper time of it. Shall I tell Dumbles?” 

Remus hadn’t even considered this. “Bugger,” he said, “do you think he’ll allow it?” Sirius gave him a wicked smile. 

“I’ll just spell my hair blond and use a German accent and he’ll forget his morals immediately,” he said. Remus’ eyebrows shot so far up he was sure he’d have to fetch them off the ceiling after the conversation. 

“Sirius!” he squawked, “not funny!” Sirius shrugged. 

“I’ll just use my natural charm then, spoilsport,” he said, and he gave Remus a kiss. “I’ll take the Snidget to the park and you can write a letter telling him we’ll be coming, hmm?” 

………….

Thanks to charm, emotional blackmail, and some well-timed suggestions from Minerva, Harry, Sirius, and Remus floo’ed to Wales on the 23rd of December. Harry looked completely adorable in his big blue puffer coat and knobbly white knit hat, his eyes wide with excitement as he peered around the Lupin family home. 

It was cozy and warm, Hope Lupin’s crochet blankets draped on the worn sofa and overstuffed arm chairs in the living room. The fire continued to crackle brightly behind them, casting warm yellow light around the house and on the worn but smiling figure of Remus’ father. Lyall greeted the three of them warmly, embracing Remus and Sirius. Harry peeked at him shyly from the collar of Remus’ jacket. 

“Hello there, Harry,” Lyall said softly. Harry regarded him warily. 

“Harry, this is Moony’s Daddy,” Remus whispered to him, blushing at the look on Lyall’s face. Harry seemed only slightly mollified by this, his hands still tightly clasping Remus’ lapels. 

“Sorry,” Remus said apologetically, “he can be a bit shy.” Lyall smiled at Harry. 

“Reminds me of you at his age,” he said, and produced a biscuit out of nowhere. Harry giggled and took it. 

“Ta” he said politely. Remus beamed. 

“Harry can you say hi to, um, too…” he floundered, looking up at his father. Sirius interrupted. 

“Do you think, maybe, he could call you Grandpa?” he asked. Remus froze, but Lyall seemed delighted. 

“Of course,” he said, “I would be honoured.” Sirius smiled at Remus encouragingly. 

“I’ll put these in Remus’ old room,” he said, pulling their shrunken trunks from his pocket. Lyall nodded. 

“Good to see you, son,” he said to Sirius, and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“We’ve missed you,” Sirius said simply, “it’s really good to be back.” As he left, Lyall and Remus both worried absently at the sleeve of their jumpers, laughing awkwardly when they noticed the shared gesture. 

“Tea?” he asked, and Remus nodded. 

“Ta, Dad,” he said and helped Harry out of his snowsuit as Lyall busied himself with tea water. 

“I’ve got cocoa for Harry if you don’t mind him having the chocolate after dinner,” Lyall called from the kitchen, and Remus picked Harry up again and walked to join him. 

“Er, should I mind?” he asked, and Lyall laughed. 

“Goodness,” he said, “well, from my own limited experience with parenting, I’d say it’s fine for special occasions.” 

Remus laughed, thinking guiltily of the many pre-bedtime cocoas he’d made for Harry. 

“Limited experience?” he teased, and Lyall smiled at him. 

“Your mum and I often wondered if we were doing the parenting or if you were doing it for us,” he said, “you were always so serious, even as a child.” 

“I was also a very Sirius child,” said a voice from the doorway, and Lyall laughed. 

“Don’t encourage him,” chided Remus, and Lyall shook his head ruefully. 

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he said as the four of them returned to the sitting room. Harry took his bottle of cocoa and drank greedily, giggling at the dancing marshmallows that Lyall had slipped him when Remus wasn’t looking. 

“So cocoa has too much sugar, but marshmallow….” he began, but Sirius shushed him. 

“Special occasion, Moony you old stick,” he said, filching a marshmallow from Harry. Harry looked at him measuredly and then turned to Remus, offering a marshmallow. 

“Moony?” he asked with a gummy smile, “want?”

“Thank you very much,” Remus said solemnly, taking the sweet and giving Sirius a meaningful look, “see how it’s done, Padfoot?” he said, pointedly. Sirius rolled his eyes. Lyall looked curious about the names, but said nothing as they continued to sip their tea. 

“How long have you had him?” he asked instead, and Sirius ruffled Harry’s hair. 

“We’ve been watching him for about a year, but he only came to live with us in March,” he said. Lyall nodded. 

“He looks well,” he said, “you boys are doing a fine job. I won’t ask where you’re living—“ he held up a hand to prevent Remus from apologising, “—because I know it’s all top secret, and for good reason. But you’re always welcome here for a cuppa or a babysitter if you need a hand.” Remus smoothed his hand along the blanket on his lap. 

“Thanks, Da,” he said softly. Lyall leaned over to squeeze his shoulder. 

“Of course,” he said, “I’ve said it a thousand times. You always have a home here.” 

Harry, blessedly, saved them from the growing emotion in the room by bursting into tears for no apparent reason. 

“He must be exhausted,” Lyall said, and Sirius picked him up. 

“I’ll put him in the cot,” he said, “I’ll be back.” 

“Mooooooony,” Harry wailed, “Moooooony.” Remus looked at his father apologetically. Lyall began to gather the mugs and waved his wand, sending them to the kitchen. 

“Don’t worry about it Re,” he said, “I know what it’s like. Get him to bed and then go to sleep, you both look knackered.” Lyall walked towards the kitchen and then turned, his hand on the doorframe. He looked slightly awkward. 

“I, er, left the double bed,” he said, “but I can help you transfigure it into two singles if you prefer. Sirius looked questioningly at Remus. 

“It’s, um, it’s fine as is,” said Remus, praying that he hadn’t gone as red as he suspected he had done. Lyall’s tired face split into a wide smile. 

“I rather thought it might be,” he said with an approving nod. “Goodnight you three.” 

“Say goodnight to Grandpa,” Sirius said to Harry, who had ceased wailing and was now lying against Remus’ chest and sucking his thumb. He looked at Lyall thoughtfully for a moment and then removed his thumb. 

“Night Pa Pa,” he said sleepily. Lyall walked over and kissed Harry’s forehead. 

“Nos da, fy annwyl,” he said gently, and, after a moment’s hesitation, he squeezed Remus’ shoulder. 

“Nos da, fy mab,” he said. Remus swallowed a lump of emotion and felt very, very sad he hadn’t come sooner. 

“Nos da,” he replied, his voice creaking slightly. Sirius put a hand on his back. 

“Nos da, Lyall,” he said, and the three of them went up to Remus’ old room. It was not a particularly personalised room, even when Remus had been a child, but it seemed that Lyall had barely touched it since he left. His Ziggy Stardust poster hang on the wardrobe door, the Gryffindor blanket Hope had made was folded neatly at the end of the bed. Though Remus had taken most of his books with him when he had moved in with Sirius at the end of seventh year, there were still his childhood and muggle favourites stacked neatly on the shelves. Harry’s cot was wedged between the bed and desk, and after they changed him into a fresh nappy and his pyjamas with little snitches on them that Sirius had found for his birthday, he was soft and sleepy and went to bed without protest. Sirius padded off to the bathroom to shower as Remus laid down to watch Harry from his bed. As his eyelids grew heavier, Remus reached a hand over to rub Harry’s back. 

.......

When Sirius returned, he found them both fast asleep and breathing in slow synchrony. He crawled under the blanket and curled himself around Remus, feeling the warm solid fact of him against his own body. 

_This is my family_ , Sirius thought in awe, _this is mine._  
…………  
It had been years since Christmas Eve in Llangynidr felt as magical as it had when Remus was young. During those last family Christmases, when Hope had been sick and Lyall had been strained and Remus had been sad and afraid and filled with teenage boy frustrations, Christmas had felt staged. Like all of them were playing the parts of a happy family, not discussing the war or the cancer or the unplayable bills. They hadn’t even gotten a tree in ’76 after Hope had died, nor in ’77 when he stayed at the Potter’s for Sirius’ first Black-free Christmas. ’78 had been NEWTS, and Remus had stayed at Hogwarts to keep out of his father’s way (and to keep Lyall out of his), and then ’79 it was war and Remus was in hiding with werewolves in Snowdonia. 1980 had been Harry’s first Christmas so the Marauders and Marlene McKinnon had all stayed in Godric’s Hallow and 1981 had, of course, been hell. Yet when Remus woke up on the morning of Christmas Eve ‘82, warm and curled against Sirius in his childhood bed with a very small and eager child whispering his name and pointing to the snow outside the window, he felt ready for Christmas in Llangynidr. Like Llangynidr and all its memories were welcome in his life again. 

Taking care not to wake Sirius, Remus whispered a muffling charm and slipped out of bed, picking Harry up from his cot and changing his nappy. He grabbed a ratty pair of slippers from under the bed, warmed them, and pulled on a jumper while Harry chewed thoughtfully on Sirius’ belt and gazed out of the window at the snow-covered hills. 

“Let’s get you some real breakfast, hmm?” he whispered, tugging the belt from Harry’s mouth and pulling a jumper over his tousled black hair. Harry raised his arms to be held and Remus hoisted him up, settling him onto his hip and giving him a little kiss on the nose. Harry giggled and swatted at him. 

Lyall, ever an early-riser, stood in the kitchen making a full fry-up as he had done every Christmas Eve of Remus’ childhood. Hope had always been the cook in their house but Lyall had a knack for breakfasts and Remus groaned with anticipation when the scent of bacon and fried toast hit his nose. Harry even lifted his little face to sniff attentively, and Remus laughed at his frown of concentration. 

“Bacon?” he asked, and Harry nodded eagerly. 

“Bacon!” he replied, “Pafoot?” 

“Padfoot’s asleep,” Remus said as they walked into the kitchen, “it’s Pa Pa, look.” 

Lyall turned with a smile, a neat apron tied over his thick jumper and his slacks pressed smartly. Remus, mindful of his own stubbly face and pyjamas, stopped himself from laughing at the ridiculous familiarity of his father’s need to be ‘presentable’ at six in the morning. Harry smiled at Lyall shyly and then buried his face in Remus’ neck. Remus was bemused. 

“I really haven’t seen him with anyone but Sirius, Minerva, and me” he said apologetically as Lyall began to plate the breakfast, “he’s not usually this…” 

“Small children tend to be shy and clingy after they sleep,” said Lyall soothingly, “it’s perfectly normal. Would you like some toast, Harry?” 

Harry peeked at him. “Jam?” he asked. Lyall began to spread the jam on toast. 

“Absolutely. Some bacon, too?” 

“BACON!” Harry cheered, and Lyall laughed. 

“You’ve got yourself a little carnivore too then, eh?” he asked. Remus laughed. 

“To be honest I think he mostly likes sneaking it to P— to our dog under the table.” Lyall looked at him inquisitively. 

“I didn’t know you had a dog,” he said, “I thought you didn’t like them?” Remus shrugged, taking his wand out to modify a chair so he could strap Harry in level with the table. 

“Sirius got him, um, a bit before we went to Soho,” he said, which was not exactly a lie, “and he’s lovely with Harry, it really helped us out the first couple of weeks for him to have, er, Snuffles, to follow him around.” 

Lyall laughed, passing Remus a plate of food for himself and another, smaller and more jam-laden one for Harry. “Snuffles?” 

Remus grinned. “James named him,” he said, pretending not to see Lyall’s face drop at the mention of James, “he’s a massive Newfoundland. He makes such a noise you can hear him for miles around.” Lyall piled food onto his own plate and sat, flicking his wand at the remaining food to keep it warm for Sirius. 

“Where is he while you and Sirius are here?” he asked, and Remus hesitated. He hated lying to his father, especially on such a perfect morning. Lyall seemed to sense his discomfort and raised a hand gently. “No need, I understand. Discretion is key. I’m glad Harry has a pet though; I always worried that you may have wanted one.” 

Remus wished he could tell his father that between the dog, the dear, and the rat, he’d had more than his fair share of responsibilities at school. Of course, he couldn’t. “No, I never thought about it before Snuffles. You know me, I’ve always hated cats.” Lyall grinned. 

“Remember when your mother inherited Llewellyn?” Lyall asked. Remus groaned. 

“Great Aunt Sian couldn’t have waited for the cat to die first,” he groused, and his father laughed. 

“I told your mother I didn’t care that he was a muggle-owned cat, there had to be at least some kneazle blood in that beast.” 

“He certainly lived long enough,” Remus said darkly. Harry banged his spoon against the table. 

“More jam peas Pa Pa!” he said to Lyall, and Lyall chucked him under the chin. 

“Right you are, little man,” he said, getting up despite Remus’ protests. As he fried some more toast, he said casually, “is that where the nickname comes from, then?” Remus jumped. 

“Oh,” he said, “oh, yeah. Um. Sirius’ patronus is a dog and James’ is—was— a stag so we called them Padfoot and Prongs. Mine’s” he coughed uncomfortably, “well, it’s a wolf. Thus, Moony.” Lyall gave Harry his toast, looking slightly concerned. 

“Aren’t you worried it’s a bit obvious?” he said delicately, and Remus felt a stab of guilt and then frustration at his father’s usual insistence that he avoid anything that could out him as a werewolf. His father could not understand the way that, as much as Remus hated his condition and its limitations, he hated himself more when he tried to deny his lycanthropy. 

But it was Christmas Eve and Harry was happy and Remus had really, really missed his father. So he just shrugged. 

“We’re discrete as we can be,” he said, “but those were the names James taught him to call us, and we wanted Harry to undergo as little confusion as possible. If anyone asks, we can just say it’s based on our corporeal patronus form.” Lyall still looked strained, but had evidently come to the same conclusion as his son: no fights this Christmas. Instead, he began to tell the entire ridiculous story of how he had interviewed Remus’ classmate Gilderoy Lockhart for a job in the MLE Creatures Division only to find that he didn’t even know what a red cap was. 

“So then,” chuckled Lyall as Remus doubled over with laughter, “he says he took out a mountain troll with a Conjunctivitis curse…. and I asked him what good that did and he said,” Lyall wiped his eyes, breathless, “he said a troll isn’t much good without his arms!” 

“NO!” bellowed Remus, cackling, “he didn’t, the stupid sod…” Harry shrieked with laughter, possibly at Remus’ hysterics. Just as Remus was wiping his eyes on the corner of his napkin, Sirius walked in, shaved and dressed and generally respectable. Remus felt momentarily betrayed: after all, while he admittedly spent most of his mornings in pyjamas, Sirius spent most of his days in a state of at least semi-undress. Then, looking at the approval on his father’s face as he ushered Sirius into a chair, Remus realised that Sirius must be trying to impress Lyall, to show how he’d grown from an angry reckless teenager to someone Remus could rely on. A partner. Remus smiled at him over his tea. 

“Morning, Padfoot,” he said, “Happy Christmas Eve!” 

“You late!” called Harry, and Remus and Lyall laughed. 

“Ah, Snidget, it’s barely eight o’clock,” complained Sirius, “not all of us can sleep through your snores.” 

“I'm not snore!” Harry said indignantly. Sirius grinned. 

“Must be Moony, then,” he said indulgently, and Remus made a rude gesture over Harry’s head when Lyall wasn’t looking. Sirius mimed horror and shock and Harry whipped his head around wildly, looking for the source of Sirius’ indignation. 

“Anyway,” Sirius said, buttering a slice of toast from the plate Lyall had just slipped him, “Ta, Grandpa.” Lyall pointed a spatula at him. 

“That’s Lyall or Dad to you, Sirius, I’m too young to have old men such as yourself call me Grandpa.” Sirius grinned. 

“Ta, Dad,” he said easily, winking at Remus “so, nocturnal breathing allegations aside, what’re the odds Moony will let us out to play in the snow, eh Sprog?” Harry  
looked somewhat apprehensive about going out into the snow. 

“Padfoot be dog?” he asked hopefully, and Lyall looked up sharply. 

“Snuffles isn’t here pumpkin,” Remus said quickly, “but Moony and Padfoot will be there mm?” Harry looked confused but blessedly made no comment as Remus got up to fetch their snow things, thanking Lyall for breakfast and giving Sirius a quick kiss on the cheek before he could overthink it. It was the right thing to do: Sirius looked pleased and Lyall gave him an approving nod as he walked out. 

In the end, all four of them had gone outside tightly bundled in warm muggle puffers and charmed mittens and boots. Sirius and Harry had proven to be a formidable team in the snowball war: between Sirius’ excellent beater’s arm and Harry’s adorable face shielding him from retaliation, the two were able to stuff so much snow into Remus’ clothes that Lyall made him strip off his outer layers inside. While Sirius gave Harry a hot bath, Remus put on a fresh jumper and trousers and went to help his father with the cocoa. 

“You seem happy,” Lyall said gently, passing a mug to Remus. Remus dropped in a few marshmallows and added the mug to the tray of biscuits and cocoa. 

“I am,” he said after a moment. “A year ago I thought… well, I thought I could never really be happy again. It still hurts, thinking about the war. Missing Lily and James and the Prewitts… Marlene….” he shook his head and took a steadying breath. “Like missing Mum. It doesn’t go away but it isn’t…” 

“It isn’t the end of the world anymore,” Lyall supplied, and Remus nodded. “She would have loved to see the three of you, your mum would have.” Remus blushed.

“Did you,” he asked, awkwardly fiddling with the sleeve of his jumper, “did you know that I… that Sirius..?” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. 

“We rather thought you might have been in love with him,” said Lyall. Remus laughed awkwardly. 

“Everyone but Sirius knew, I think,” he said. Lyall snorted. 

“And everyone but you could see how much he loved you, Remus,” he replied, “the way he fell over his feet trying to be sweet to your mum, the way he followed you around like a lost dog. We just wanted you to tell us on your own time.” Lyall paused, squinting at Remus. “Took you long enough,” he added, “you must have been together, what, five or six years? Just before you left Hogwarts?” 

Remus blinked awkwardly. “Dad, it’s been barely a month and a half,” he said, feeling slightly strangled. Lyall whistled, long and low. 

“Merlin,” he said, sounding surprised, “and you never?” Remus shook his head. 

“Never brought it up,” he replied, “which feels silly now, but,” he glared at Lyall and flicked a marshmallow at him, “shut it Dad, it worked out in the end.” 

Lyall put a hand on his shoulder, his eyes sparkling. “Oh my beautiful son,” he said solemnly, “this is barely the beginning.”

……… 

When dinner had been eaten, fires prodded, and cocoas passed around, Sirius and Remus draped themselves over blankets by the fire and half-listened to Lyall read Rudyard Kipling aloud. Harry, in his snitch pyjamas with his thumb in his mouth, was sitting beside Lyall and gazing at him through heavy-lidded eyes. The wind outside was so fierce they’d had to put up a few proofing charms around the house to keep out the snow, but inside the little cottage it was warm and bright and safe. 

While Remus and Lyall had cooked, Sirius and Harry had gone out and bought a massive tree which they had managed to convince the muggle christmas-tree-salesman that they could take home without a car. Sirius, instead of shrinking and re-enlarging the tree once inside, had instead decided to levitate it through the door for Harry’s amusement— resulting in laughter, some shouting on Remus’ part, and the entire first floor being totally covered in pine needles. Still, he had managed, and with Remus’ help they had covered it in fairy lights and stones transfigured into brightly coloured baubles. Lyall had drawn a line at tinsel— “garish and impossible”— but by the time they had finished their cocoa and Harry had fallen asleep, the tree looked magical. Not in the way that practical magic was magic, but in the more elusive way of childhood, of memories being formed. The pine tree, pricked with light and gently glowing, was somehow the most real and solid thing in the little room. It made Remus feel safe, more eager for Harry’s third Christmas than he had been for any of his own.

The excitement woke them up ridiculously early, so early that Harry was a bit grumpy by the time they had gotten him downstairs. He didn’t seem to fully understand the meaning of the gifts that Remus and Sirius had snuck under the tree while he had been sleeping, but Sirius and Remus’ joy was infectious. Soon, Harry was clapping his hands and shouting to be heard over Sirius’ rendition of ‘god rest ye merry hippogriffs’ by making specific and insistent demands for breakfast. 

Lyall made David Eyre pancakes, a Lupin family tradition since Remus had been six and his mum had heard about the recipe in the newspaper. Harry and Sirius, at first skeptical, managed to consume three entire cakes between the two of them to Lyall’s shock and delight. Remus had loaded his with jam and cream, mumbling nonsensical thanks between moans of satisfaction. 

“Da,” he said as Harry and Sirius came up for air, “best. Christmas gift. Ever.” Lyall grinned. 

“Wait until you see what’s under the tree then, hmm?” he said mysteriously. Remus felt a nervous flop of his stomach; he knew Lyall wouldn’t have been able to afford much and hoped that his father hadn’t gone to too much trouble. They all went into the living room to crowd around the tree, Sirius passing a few packages to Harry.  
Against his better judgement, Remus had allowed Sirius to go Christmas shopping unsupervised. The two of them had been unable to give Harry any presents the last year and from the look of his cupboard— Remus did his best not to think about it— he had not received any then. Sirius was both a phenomenal gift-giver and a wealthy toff so Remus was prepared to be embarrassed by the extravagance: he knew, though, that the gifts were more for Sirius’ sake than Harry’s. That Sirius needed to give him everything. 

To his pleasant surprise, the gifts were not completely ridiculous. There were some funny little toddler shoes with enchanted flapping wings, a miniature set of quidditch balls (enchanted, Sirius assured him, to be safe), and an updated version of the broomstick Sirius had gotten him for his first birthday. Harry was delighted, snuggling up with the brightly-coloured moving picture book from Remus and wearing a slightly-oversized emerald sweater from Lyall. 

Sirius and Remus presented Lyall with a box of exquisite chocolates from Honeydukes and a gently floating bottle of dirigible-plum wine, along with the latest book by Newt Scamander called ‘Beastly Beings and Being a Beast’. Lyall reached under the tree for two small, neatly-wrapped parcels, and handed them to Remus and Sirius respectively. 

“Da—“ Remus began to protest, but Lyall shushed him. 

“Open them up,” he said, looking excited. Remus unwrapped the parcel. 

Inside each was a sickle-sized flat river stone, naturally rounded with a hole worn through the middle and a leather cord looped through the hole to be worn around the neck. Remus looked up questioningly. 

“A seeing stone,” he said, puzzled. “You got one for mum so she could see magical creatures.” 

“I got one for myself as well,” he said, “so that I could see you.” Remus felt even more perplexed, but Sirius looked excited. 

“How?” he asked, examining the stone eagerly. Lyall went into the kitchen and returned with a lidded cauldron. 

“I made it when you were little,” he said, “old magic. Your mum gave me the idea; she asked if such a thing existed and I thought it perhaps could. We’ll need some of his hair, and yours.”

Remus went to get Harry’s hairbrush and Sirius yanked out a few hairs from his own head. The three of them stood over the cauldron, placing the stones and the hairs into the silvery potion. It turned bright white and then translucent, rippling like a fragment of a stream and then went still. Lyall lifted the stones and placed them, slick and warm to touch, in Sirius and Remus’ palms. 

“No matter where you are,” he said, “you need only look through the stone and you’ll see whatever he sees. No one but the two of you can use them.” 

Remus squeezed his father’s hand. 

“It’s perfect, Da,” he said softly. Sirius gave a tight nod. 

Lyall smiled at them both in a sad, worn sort of way. “It’s not very easy,” he said, “being a father. But I expect you’ll both do a better job than I did,” he waved down Remus’ protest, “because you know how fragile it all is. Just,” he hesitated, turning to gaze at Harry who was now chatting amicably with his stuffed dog, “just remember to always ask for help when you need it and to never keep secrets if you can help it. You can’t always protect him by protecting yourself. Do you understand?” 

Remus looked at Sirius and nodded. They did understand. Remus took a deep breath and turned back to his father. 

“Dumbledore thinks He’ll be coming back,” he said bracingly, “You-Know-Who. He thinks he’ll be coming back for Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boffin: slang for a nerd, songs: Dirty Laundry (Don Henley, 1982) Werewolves of London (Warren Zevon, 1978) Fly (Nick Drake, 1971). You may be wondering: why am I so kind to Lyall Lupin when like 0 other fics are? Because, according to Joanna, he was an ignorant asshole when he was young but he learned and he loved his son and Remus learned how to deal with magical creatures from him. If you wonder how a good father would let him son struggle for 12 years, it makes sense that Remus wouldn’t want to rely on his father or worry him after school. And honestly? I think he, Sirius, and Harry need more love in their lives. Don’t worry, the ramifications of the necklace will be explored later. Also….. well, we’ll get to that ;)


	16. 1986: St. Mungo's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I am so so sorry for the long wait. Who knew that having LESS to do makes one LESS motivated? Anyway in the hopes of getting a chapter out I've skipped ahead a few years. Warnings for body horror (just a tad) and parsletongue.

A frantic knock at the window woke Remus from his impromptu nap with a jolt. The book he had been using as a less-than-effective pillow fell to the floor, and his neck popped and cracked as he moved it experimentally from side to side. 

The tapping became more frantic; the tawny owl at the window was nearly losing its mind with urgency. 

“Coming, coming,” he mumbled, hoisting himself up and unlatching the window. The owl stuck out its leg, and Remus clumsily unfastened and unrolled the parchment. 

‘Call from school. Harry injured. Go now’ said Arabella Figg’s messy penmanship. Remus didn’t bother to wait a muggle-appropriate length of time; he dashed outside and apparated on the spot. 

When he arrived in a field by the kindergarten, Remus broke into a run. He could hear children sobbing as he got closer to the brightly painted building, and as he rushed through the gate he saw a cluster of people below the monkey bars. 

“Oh thank god you’re here,” said Karen as Remus approached the tight circle around Harry. Several children were crying, though not as heavily as Harry, whose arm was twisted unnaturally and hanging limp at his side. Remus’ stomach dropped. 

“Moony,” wailed Harry, “I want Moony.” 

“Hey, Prongslet,” said Remus softly, dropping beside him. He cursed himself for sending Harry to a muggle kindergarten where they couldn’t just whip out their wands and stop the pain. It had to have been at least five minutes since they’d called Arabella. As Karen stepped back, helping Melanie to usher the other children away. Remus subtly moved his hand to touch his wand and murmured a cheering charm. Harry’s crying stopped. 

“Moony,” he said tearfully, “I didun fly.” 

“I know, pumpkin,” said Remus soothingly. “No big jumps without me or Padfoot, remember?” 

Harry nodded as Karen approached. “I called an ambulance about two minutes ago,” she said, worriedly, “don’t know how you got here so fast but it’s good you did, they’ll be here in a moment.” 

“Er, thanks Karen,” said Remus awkwardly, “but I’m going to take him to, er, a family clinic, sorry.” 

Karen looked confused but nodded. “Okay. I’ll give them a call.” 

Remus picked Harry up gently, and walked slowly towards the empty lot. The five year old had perked up since the cheering charm, but made no protest that he was too old to be carried, so Remus knew that he was either in pain or still traumatised from the fall.

“Down you go,” said Remus, his adrenaline fading to be swiftly replaced by the far more familiar exhaustion. He took out his wand and put Harry’s arm in a tight splint, and then boosted the numbing charm. 

“Ow!” Harry protested, glaring at him, “that hurt!” 

“We’ll have to go to Mungo’s,” Remus said, and Harry looked annoyed. 

“I don’t want to go to Mungo’s, it smells weird and people keep bothering me,” he whined, and Remus grinned, despite himself. 

“Some people like being famous,” he said, and Harry shrugged. 

“S’not my fault I’m famous,” he explained, “and they wanna hug me all the time and my arm hurts ‘cuz you and Padfoot didn’t save me.” 

“Irrefutable logic, that,” muttered Remus, conjuring up a patronus. “Tell Sirius we’re at Mungo’s and that Harry’s fine.” 

“Am not!” Harry protested, “My bloody arm’s broke!” Remus sighed at the swear; reprimanding him only seemed to make Harry more keen on repeating them. 

“Then you shouldn’t have jumped off the monkey bars without a broom,” Remus told him. Harry had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. 

“Carry me?” he asked Remus, and Remus hesitated. The moon had only been two days ago; he was weak and couldn’t really manage to carry a five year old for three blocks. He could always levitate him, but he doubted that the ministry would approve of Harry Potter being flown through Privet Drive in broad daylight. He settled for a weight-lightening charm; with a hasty levio, he tapped Harry on the head with his wand and lifted him gingerly. By the time they reached Arabella's house, Harry was back to his usual self, chattering eagerly about his morning. 

“An’ then Saskia said she saw a lepercorn but I told her she can’t see them ‘cuz she’s just a muggle and she told Teacher only Teacher said muggle’s not a word and I told her it is too only I’m not supposed to tell ‘cuz of the innernational statue of secrecy,” Harry looked guiltily at Remus. “Will Mr. Fudge be mad ‘cuz I told Teacher about the innernational statue of secrecy?” 

“No,” said Remus, putting Harry down and fumbling with the keys, “but don’t tell Padfoot or he’ll want you out of muggle school.” 

“An’ then he’ll stay home and teach me ‘afore Hogwarts,” said Harry triumphantly, “so I can practice magic without them muggles getting ‘spicious!”

Remus eyed Harry suspiciously. “And you know this because…” 

“I was thirsty,” said Harry defensively, “an’ you were in the kitchen an’ it was nighttime so you weren't supposed to be in the kitchen.” Remus rolled his eyes and guided Harry to the fireplace. A note from Arabella on the living room door indicated that she had stepped out for some cat food; by the droning howl of cats coming from the upstairs, the trip had been urgent. 

“It’s not nice to listen to people if they don’t know you’re listening,” said Remus as he hunted around for the floo powder amongst Sirius’ many quidditch action figures (which he had left at number five for 'safe keeping') on the mantle. Harry gave a non committal hum, and Remus decided to deal with it later. 

“Incito,” he said, conjuring flames into the grate and picking Harry up again. “Saint Mungo’s” he said, tossing the powder into the fire and stepping through the green flames into the hospital waiting room. Harry sneezed— the floo always did that to him— and Remus gave a silent thanks for the anonymity of the hubub. 

It wasn’t long lived. Within minutes, reverent whispers of “Harry Potter” and “oh Merlin it’s him” spread across the room as they made their way to the desk. Harry frowned as he was set down, and clung tightly to Remus’ hand. 

“Broken arm,” said Remus to the witch behind the desk. She peered eagerly at Harry, leaning forwards across the desk. 

“That’s him, then,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “the Boy Who Lived?” 

“The boy who jumped off a play set and broke his arm,” said Remus firmly. “How quickly can we see a healer?” 

The woman assessed the splint. “Good work, that. Shouldn’t be a minute, broken bones are just down the hall. You’ll be Remus Lupin, of course.” Remus nodded uncomfortably. The adoption of the famous Boy-Who-Lived by a recently-exonerated accused Death Eater and his werewolf “best friend” was still making the prophet three years later. 

“Occupation?” she asked. _Kept man _, said Sirius’ voice in his head. Remus blushed.__

____

____

“Freelance magical pest control and curse-breaker,” he said. Harry tugged at his sleeve. 

“Mooony,” he complained, and Remus thanked the receptionist. He and Harry had just begun to make their way to the indicated point when a familiar voice boomed “Make way for Notorious Mass Murderer, Sirius Black!” 

“Merlin’s saggy..” Remus began before catching himself and finishing rather lamely, “…socks”. It didn’t matter anyhow; the five year old had broken hold on his hand and was running lopsidedly towards the elegant, long haired man who had managed to divert the crowd. 

“PADFOOT,” bellowed Harry, and Sirius scooped him up, nuzzling him affectionately and giving him slobbery kiss on the cheek. Harry batted him away, cackling wildly. Remus rolled his eyes— they were always like this, as though they hadn’t seen in each other and years and not been parted only five hours ago when Sirius had dropped him at school.

“Careful,” said Remus despairingly as Harry knocked his injured arm in the affectionate scuffle and let out a howl of alarm. Sirius had the decency to look ashamed. 

“Sorry kid,” he said, and Harry buried his face in Sirius’ neck. Remus walked up, feeling his annoyance ebb into relief. He had never gotten good at the staring; Sirius took the brunt of it with the sort of grace and panache he took most things. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, and Sirius smiled at him in that loopy sort of way that even now made Remus feel like he’d been caught on the wrong end of a jelly-legs jinx. 

“Yeah well,” Sirius replied teasingly, “I didn’t have anything better to do.” Harry narrowed his eyes in accusation. 

“You have to be here NOW,” he said, his little boy’s voice managing an alarmingly Lily-Evens-esque severity, “‘cause you didn’t save me.” They both winced. 

“Sorry Prongslet,” said Sirius, quickly covering a flash of anguish by kissing the splint. “I’ll do better next time.” 

“There won’t be a next time,” said Remus sharply, “because Harry isn’t going to be jumping off any more swing sets right, Harry?” 

Harry nodded solemnly, and they began to walk towards the bones ward. 

It was lucky that Harry wasn’t a sensitive child, because the bones ward was pretty fucking horrifying. There was a man with a leg that looked like a partially deflated balloon and a young woman whose cheekbones were jutting grotesquely from her face. 

“Alinor, the number of times I have told you not to attempt to change your own appearance by magic…” an older witch, ostensibly Alinor’s mother, was saying furiously to the girl. Alinor's tears were collecting in pools on her altered face, and Harry’s bright green eyes followed her with interest as they passed. 

When they reached the paediatric bone ward they were, blessedly, the only ones there. Harry squirmed out of Sirius’ arms and went to play with the various toys piled in the corner of the brightly painted room. Remus was taking a moment to appreciate the gently swaying grasses and prowling leopards that moved among the mural. 

“So,” Sirius murmured, leaning close to Remus so that only he could hear, “he didn’t, y’know, bounce or anything?” 

“No,” said Remus, relieved. “He just fell. No difficult explanations needed.” 

Sirius frowned. “So he’s covering up his magic?” he asked, something dangerous in his voice. Remus, who had been really just too tired to consider this, bit his lip. 

“I don’t know,” he said, honestly. “I mean, he’s fine at home, sneezed last week and set fire to Petunia’s geraniums remember?” 

“That’s why we should keep him at home,” Sirius pressed. Remus rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes and groaned. 

“Sirius we are not having this argument now,” he muttered. Blessedly, the healer came out, looking at a scrap of parchment as though not quite believing what it said. 

“Harry Potter?” he said, and Harry looked up to glance nervously at Remus. Remus nodded encouragingly, and Sirius walked over to scoop him up. 

“Yep,” he said, “that’s us.” He made to follow Sirius through the door. 

“Family only,” said the healer, blocking his entrance. Remus smiled politely. 

“We are his legal guardians,” he said. Sirius looked back, furiously. 

“Something wrong?” he asked, and Harry swivelled around in Sirius’ arms for a better look. 

“Moony?” he said, tremulously. Remus felt a swell of anger towards the healer, that he would do this in front of Harry. 

“Not to worry pumpkin,” he said soothingly, giving the healer a hard look, “Moony’s coming.” He sent Sirius a quelling look— _go _, he willed him.__

____

____

As the two walked down the hallway, Harry’s face buried in Sirius’ shoulder, Remus turned to look at the Healer. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, evenly. The Healer looked a bit frightened. 

“You— you’re Remus Lupin, you work for Sirius Black. You’re a— a—“ 

“A werewolf,” said Remus, “and I do not work for Sirius Black, I work with him. I am Harry Potter’s legal guardian as appointed by Albus Dumbledore and my son is hurt. I will go with him.” 

“Your condition—“ 

“Is not transmittable through contact or by proximity,” said Remus, “and though it clearly makes you uncomfortable, Healer….” 

“Wick,” said the Healer automatically, and then looked very vexed with himself. 

“...though it makes you uncomfortable Healer Wick,” Remus continued smoothly, “that is not my problem.” He walked past the healer with as much poise as he could manage on transformation-stiff limbs. Harry and Sirius were waiting for him at the end of the hall and, as he approached, Harry reached out his arms. 

“Hey, Snidget,” he said, taking the little boy from Sirius despite his fatigue. Merlin he hated healers. 

The bone was fixed quickly, to the relief of all parties except the medi-witches who all still requested that Harry spend the night for ‘observation’. Remus and Sirius declined as politely as possible, bringing Harry back to the tent and, after a hasty round of beans on toast, tucking him into bed. As Remus sang to the little boy, smoothing his fringe down over the scar he barely noticed anymore, Harry opened his eyes warily. 

“Moony?” he asked, and Remus smiled at him. 

“Yes, Harry?” he answered gently. Padfoot, curled at the foot of Harry's bed, opened his eyes and pricked up his ears. 

“I only jumped ‘cuz Snake dared me to do it,” he whispered. Remus felt himself grow cold. 

“Snake,” he said, his mouth dry. Harry nodded sleepily. 

“Snake,” he replied. “He lives in the garden. He’s silly.” 

“Oh,” said Remus faintly, “right. Well, Harry, next time someone asks you to do something, make sure to say no if you think it’s something Padfoot or I would tell you not to do, okay?” 

“Okay,” said Harry, closing his eyes. Within moments he was snoring gently, arms clutched tight around the plush cat Minerva had gotten him for his last birthday. Remus got up shakily and exited the room, followed by a big black dog. He poured himself a whiskey and then poured another for the dog, who promptly turned into a very pale Sirius Black. Sirius took the whiskey, drained it, and then poured himself another. 

“Snake,” he said, flatly. Remus felt a hysterical giggle rise in his chest. 

“Snake,” he replied. They looked at each other. 

“It may not be—“ they both began, and then cut off with nervous laughter. Remus cast a quick muffliato.

“Maybe he’s pretending,” tried Sirius, and Remus nodded shakily. 

“We’ll ask him in the morning,” he said. He swirled the remnants of his second whiskey in his glass. 

“Anyway, we can’t send him to school with an unbroken arm,” Remus continued reasonably. Sirius gave a weak smile. 

“I win,” he said. Remus sighed. 

“You win,” he replied, “he’ll be taught at home. You better remember your maths, because I do not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't remember my maths


	17. The Nix (June, 1989)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am so sorry it has been a MINUTE! The pacing in this chapter is a little crazy, so apologies in advance. Be ready for a little angst, an unexpected cameo, and Dumbledore being manipulative (I love him, I do, but ISTG)

“Moony!” yelled Harry, catapulting through the tent, more firework than boy. Remus, whose hands were currently sliding under Sirius’ pyjama shirt, jumped up hastily. 

“Just a minute Harry!” he yelled. Sirius groaned into Remus’ neck and gave him a teasing kiss under his ear as Remus pushed him away. 

“Why did we kidnap him again?” he asked. Remus frowned and lowered the muffling charm. Harry was hopping up and down in front of the tent flap that covered Remus and Sirius’ room. 

“Letter!” he called. Remus casually smoothed down his own pyjama shirt and walked out to take the letter. The owl was perched on Harry’s shoulder, eyeing a very disgruntled Snake hungrily. Snake hissed. 

“He is NOT going to eat you,” said Harry sternly. The snake slunk back down into Harry’s trouser pockets. The owl looked skeptical. 

“Haz, get him some owl nuts,” said Remus wearily, taking the letter. It had been three years and he still wasn’t fully used to the little green garden snake that Harry had begged, pleaded, and threatened his guardians into keeping. Despite their best efforts to normalise the pet with a name, Harry had stubbornly insisted that snakes did not have names and that to do so would be very rude. Remus, admittedly, had cared less than Sirius; after all, Remus had reasoned, it was a very dark ability but Remus was himself a ‘dark creature’ and Sirius had come from a dark— dare he say Black— family, and the two of them had turned out all right. Mostly. 

Anyway, he suspected that Sirius’ true fear was that Snake would replace Padfoot as Harry’s favourite pet.

“Do you want eggs?” Harry bellowed from the kitchen, “Snake wants rumble tumble but I can only do fried!” 

“What do you mean you can do fried??” Remus called back, “stay away from the stove you incontinent!” 

“What does that mean?” said Harry. Sirius walked out of the room and towards the kitchen. 

“It means that the last time you tried to cook for us you nearly set fire to the tent,” he said, ruffling Harry’s hair as Remus wandered in behind him, reading the letter. 

“Yeah but I was eight,” Harry complained, “I’m nine now. I’m going to Hogwarts in two years.” Sirius thwacked him with a dish towel. 

“Not if you die in a tragic tent-fire.” 

“Will not!” 

“Will too!” 

“Will n—“ Remus cut him off. 

“Sirius, we have a job,” he said, “it’s urgent.” Both Harry and Sirius looked at him eagerly. 

“Please can I come,” Harry wheedled, “please please please I’ll be so good I’ll stay with the bike.” Sirius looked convinced. 

“If he stays with the bike….” 

“You don’t trust him to cook eggs but you’ll let him fight a full-grown Nix?” asked Remus. Harry scowled, and Remus’ heart fell. “Look, Harry, we’ll teach you how to do the eggs but…” 

“I can do research!” Harry offered, “I’m good at research!” It was true. Harry was a quick if easily distracted student. He had also already surpassed Sirius and Remus’ maths abilities and had ended up learning mainly through the textbooks Remus had begged off of Petunia. Harry also occasionally helped Remus and Sirius with research; and Nixes weren’t particularly terrifying. Remus nodded. 

“Okay,” he said, and Harry raced to the library. Remus saw the look on Sirius’ face and frowned, yelling in Harry’s general direction “….but that doesn’t mean you can come!” 

……. 

The three of them apparated just outside of a quiet village near Snowdonia, Harry with the shrunk-down motorbike clutched tight in his hands. Remus looked down the hill towards the lake where the Nix’s victims were found, scanning the shore. Nothing immediately obvious. He turned back to Sirius and Harry.

“You okay?” Sirius was asking, crouching a bit to speak to Harry. Harry nodded, looking a bit green from the side-along apparition. Sirius prised the bike from his hands and returned it to its natural size. 

“You know the plan, then?” Remus asked gently. Harry nodded. 

“Stay behind the protego charm with the bike, don’t bring the box until you tell me,” he rattled off solemnly. Sirius ruffled his hair. 

“Good dog,” he said. Harry swatted at him. 

“What do we remember about Nixes?” Remus pressed. Harry took Snake out of one of his pocket and let him slither up to rest along the handlebars of the bike, removing a ham-sandwich from the other and absently feeding a little ham to Snake. Remus let him think, quirking a smile at Sirius 

“They’re shapeshifter, like Kelpies,” Harry said, still feeding Snake, “and they drown people, like grindylows. But only if they’re really sad.” Remus nodded approvingly. 

“Why do people call on them,” he asked. Harry bit his lip. 

“Er,” he said, “they make nice music?” 

“Sure,” said Remus, “but why else?” Harry shifted from foot to foot in the scuffley way he did when he had forgotten something. 

“They can supposedly foretell death by drowning,” Remus supplied. 

“Mostly because they cause it,” said Sirius with a snort. Remus elbowed him. 

“You can stop them from drowning people by listening to them!” Harry added, perking up. Remus nodded. 

“Good,” he said, “but what’s the danger in that?” 

“That you’ll drown yourself because you’re too sad,” Harry said impatiently. Remus smiled weakly, wondering not for the first time if they were raising Harry to be a little too blasé about the macabre. 

“Which you can avoid by reminding the Nix that you know that they are not truly not the form they take on,” he said, checking his watch. “We’ll have to go now, Harry. You remember what to do if you lose sight of us?” Harry nodded, pulling a little enchanted mirror from his pocket. 

“I just call,” he said. Remus kissed him on the top of the head and Sirius gave him a hug. 

“Back in a flash, Snidget,” said Sirius. He took Remus’ hand and, with a loud crack, they apparated to edge of the lake. Both of them turned to look back up the hill, where Harry sat, eating his sandwich and watching. Together, they cast a few protection barriers between themselves and the bike. 

In case the Nix refused to show itself, they had brought blood and vodka to pour at the water’s edge. They didn’t need to wait. The moment they turned away from Harry, they saw a man sitting by the pond tossing stones into the water. 

“James,” Sirius breathed. Remus felt his chest constrict painfully. Nixes were powerful legilimens, he reminded himself. It knew what they would find hardest to reject, to turn away from. Yet it looked so much like James that Remus momentarily didn’t care what it actually was. He grabbed Sirius’ arm, both to stop Sirius and himself from running to it. 

“Oi!” yelled the Nix with James Potter’s voice, “what are you waiting for, wankers?” It stood and waved its arms over its head to get their attention, grinning at them with James Potter’s grin. 

“No.” Sirius said quietly, almost imploringly. Remus steeled himself, focusing on the task.

“Nix,” he yelled, “you insult us by taking the face of a lost friend!” Nix-James’ face fell. 

“Guys,” it yelled back, “come over here! I don’t know what you mean!” 

“James Potter is dead,” Sirius said flatly, his wand tight in his fist, “Stop trying to drown us.”

“We’re here to help,” supplied Remus, placing a hand on Sirius’ arm. Nix-James looked bewildered. 

“Moony,” it said imploringly, “Padfoot, my brother. You know me! You know it’s me! I need your help!” 

“You’re a Nix,” Remus said with a calm he did not feel, “but we can help you. What’s wrong.” 

“Peter,” said Nix-James, and Remus felt his blood run cold. 

“What about him?” said Sirius. His voice was even, but Remus could feel his resolve faltering. 

“Again, you dishonour us by looking into our minds, Nix,” he said, meaningfully, hoping Sirius would snap out of it. 

“Guys, Pete’s pissed and I think he went for a swim,” said Nix-James, twisting James’ face into an achingly familiar mix of concern and exasperation. “Help me find him!” Sirius took a step forwards. 

Fuck, thought Remus. 

“I don’t care about Peter,” said Sirius. Remus relaxed slightly, but his relief was cut short— Sirius was gazing at the Nix hungrily, not taking his eyes off of it. “Fuck Peter.” 

“All right, fuck Peter then,” said the creature, its faux-concern rapidly shifting to James Potter’s resplendent grin, “wanna take a swim?” 

Sirius grinned back; his eyes were over-bright. “Yeah, why not?” He took another step forwards. 

“C’mon, Moony,” said Nix-James. Remus was panicking a bit. As far as he could tell, Sirius was compromised; Remus could grab him and disapparate but then the Nix would know them, they wouldn’t have another chance at it. Or Sirius was pretending, switching up tactics to confuse it. Bloody frustrating that he was also confusing his partner.

“Is that it then?” Remus asked, changing tactics, “you want companionship? You’re lonely?” 

The Nix rolled James’ eyes, “well there’s no need to be a dick, Moony, we’re mates and we want a swim. Unless you’re scared…..” Sirius snorted. 

“Scared of your scrawny knob, Potter? I think the fuck not,” he turned to Remus and winked lavishly. It was not a conspiratorial wink; Sirius was not playing with the thing. Sirius and the Nix were playing with Remus. 

“Why are you drowning innocent people?” asked Remus firmly. Nix-James laughed. 

“Oh so you can’t swim now, hmm?” Sirius was twinkling in that Sirius-and-James way that Remus missed so much. It was so tempting to give in— just for a bit. To enjoy the idea of James for a moment or two before they banished it. But Harry was watching, and Harry needed them. 

“Not with a Nix,” Remus answered Sirius, “especially not one that looks like Harry’s father.” 

At the sound of Harry’s name, the mirror in Sirius’ pocket lit up. 

“Moony?” came the child’s voice, “Padfoot? Have you got it?” Sirius stopped and stood, very still. 

“Not just yet, Snidget,” he said, his voice slightly strangled, “stay where you are.” 

“Okay,” said the little boy, and the mirror went dark. Nix-James looked as though he had been struck. 

“Yours?” he asked, hoarsely, thrown off by the sound of Harry’s voice. Remus pounced. 

“James Potter’s son,” he said, as evenly as he could manage. “You wear his face but you are not our friend. You have no right to our grief.” 

“I am grieving,” said the Nix-James, almost petulantly. In its distraction it had begun to look less like James than like a photograph of James. It beat a fist once against its chest. “I grieve!” 

“What are you grieving?” Remus coaxed. Colour drained from the Nix like blood. It became paler, its features less distinctive. Less like James Potter.

“Home,” it moaned, “family.” 

“We can help,” Remus said softly, “we know loss. Let us help.” 

“You cannot help me,” it said sadly, and then smiled a little. The colour began to return to its face. “I can help you. I can be your friend. Your boy’s father,” it ruffled James Potter’s hair. “Come with me,” it said, “no more grief.” 

“You’ll still be alone,” said Remus, “you’ll still be grieving.” 

“The only way to stop grieving a life,” Sirius added, coming out of the trance “is to keep living.”

“I am living,” said the Nix-James, “I am helping. I give people what they desire. What do you give them, Sirius?” 

“Life,” he said. 

“Freedom,” added Remus. “Come with us, and you’ll be pardoned. We can take you home.” 

“Home,” said the Nix, wistfully. It was in flux now, strengthening then flickering. It was focusing too much on itself to keep up the image. 

“Where is your home,” coaxed Remus, “what is your family name?” 

“Nøkkeroser,” it whispered, “for the flowers we gathered to draw people to us.” 

“You’re from Norway,” said Sirius. The Nix bared its teeth at him, yellow-eyed and un-James-like.

“I do not know its human name,” it hissed, “only that it melts. My home is gone. I am no one.” 

“I know how it is,” said Remus quickly, “to lose a family.” 

The Nix laughed nastily. “You know nothing of family, wolf. You smell of wizards and of shame.” 

“I am his family,” said Sirius coldly. Remus’ composure slipped and his wand-hand faltered. He tightened his grip quickly, but the Nix was fixated on Sirius, his lips curled back. 

“Disgusting,” the Nix said. Its voice was not James’; it sounded like pondscum. Gritty. Slippery. “Humans, wizards, werewolves. Such short and stupid lives! Let me help.” It began to approach them, licking its lips. Remus tightened his grip on his wand. 

“Nøkkeroser,” Sirius said quickly. The Nix stopped, as though pulled from behind. “I know that word,” Sirius continued, “We call it a water lily here.” He paused, and Remus understood. 

“Lily,” he said. With shame, he realised that he had not said her name in more than a year. Lily. He pushed down the grief, waiting for the Nix to copy her bright eyes and warm voice, almost wanting it to take her shape. To say something to her. Thank you, or I’m sorry. Or how very much he loved her son.

“Lily,” said Sirius. His voice was stronger now. “Our grief, and our joy. New life from old. We can help you, Nøkkeroser.”

“Feigr,” said the Nix, shrinking in size. Its skin had faded to a greenish-white, its face fine-boned with too many angles. It seemed impossible that it had ever looked like James Potter. “Feigr. Fated. Damned. Come with me. 

“Feigr,” said Sirius gently, pulling a vial from his pocket, “Religo!” 

The Nix seemed to melt, liquidate. Condensing into what looked like a stream of icy-water it flew into the vial and Sirius stoppered it tightly. Remus shoved his wand into his robe pocket and grabbed Sirius, crushing him into a hug. 

“Fuck,” he said, releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, “fuck fuck fuck. Shit. I thought it had you.” 

“No, me?” said Sirius lightly, shoving the vial into his pocket and extricating himself from Remus. He, too, looked suddenly exhausted. Remus said nothing. 

“It didn’t,” Sirius said, turning to walk back up the hill. He didn’t seem to want to look at Remus. “I don’t think it did. I knew it wasn’t him.” 

“I believe you,” said Remus, following. He didn’t ask why they weren’t simply apparating, or why Sirius had turned away from him. He was fairly sure he understood. 

“I just wanted it to be,” said Sirius, his voice rougher, his face still hidden, “I wanted to talk to him. It. James. Just for a minute. It was all under control.” 

“I know,” said Remus, because he was not sure what else to say. He could have said that he also wanted it to be James, which would have been true because he missed James like a goddamn limb, but also untrue because that thought hadn’t crossed his mind when he saw the Nix. All he had felt was dispossessed, maybe angry. Now that it was gone, he felt guilty for not wanting it to be James. For not spending a moment letting it be James for Sirius, for himself. Wasted, he thought, our last chance to speak with him. 

Of course it would not have been James Potter— a flimsy reassurance, a hollow farewell. Dumbledore had once said something about not pitying the dead, but it still felt wrong to appease his grief— his guilt— on a caricature of James. Sirius still wouldn’t look at him and Remus felt his shame for not reacting like Sirius harden into anger that Sirius would indulge something so shallow, so pointless. To endanger himself and Remus for a few seconds of fantasising he had his best mate back. To endanger Harry. 

“Hey,” said Sirius, turning. Remus realised he had stopped dead. “You okay?” 

“Never pull that shit again,” said Remus darkly, coldly. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to   
shove Sirius down the hill. “Give me the Nix and take Harry home.” 

“Wh—“ said Sirius, but Remus had already accio’ed the vial. 

………..

Remus disapparated and re-emerged in Hogsmeade. He stalked into The Three Broomsticks, his hands thrust deep into muggle pockets, ignoring the stares from passers by. It had begun to rain. The few other people on the street put up their wands and cast a water-repelling charm, but Remus was so caught up in his own wretchedness that he didn’t bother. By the time he had entered the Three Broomsticks and slid into a booth towards the back of the pub his anger had dissipated and was replaced by a dark and unbearable shame. 

“Shit,” he muttered, staring morosely at the vial containing the Nix. What kind of shitty parent leaves their partner and child in the middle of Wales because they can’t handle a conversation with a creature imitating their dead friend? 

He imagined Sirius trying to explain to Harry where Remus had gone— he imagined Sirius tossing Remus’ things into the Dursley’s back garden— he imagined Harry and Sirius being attacked by Death Eaters, by Voldemort himself, Sirius alone standing in front of their godson—

“Having a crisis then, are we?” asked a teasing voice. Remus’ head snapped up. 

“Er,” he said, very conscious of his sopping wet muggle clothing and puffy-eyes. “Ha, um, no, thank you.” 

Madame Rosmerta, who had seen Remus in much more compromising situations over the years, nodded. “Butterbeer?”

“Oh,” he said, remembering why he had gone to the pub “Nothing today, sorry Rosmerta. May I use your floo?” 

………. 

“I think we can find a place for it on the grounds,” said Albus Dumbledore. Remus finished scribbling a short explanation to Sirius and handed it to Fawkes, who gave him an affectionate nip and vanished.

“Thanks,” said Remus. “You aren’t worried about it trying for the students?” Albus twinkled at him across the desk. 

“It would be far from the most dangerous creature we have in the Forbidden Forest,” he pointed out, winking at Remus. Remus blushed. 

“Right,” he said, and thought, you absolute madman. The headmaster folded his hands serenely and Remus shifted awkwardly, avoiding his eyes. 

“Er,” he said, “right. So, thanks.” 

“Of course,” said Albus pleasantly. He was evidently not planning on dismissing Remus yet, which meant that he wanted something. 

“I ought to get back,” he began, though he did not get up. He wished that Albus would stop looking at him like he was a prefect again and the headmaster was hoping he’d tattle on his mates. Not that Remus had ever done that; it was, he suspected, why he’d never made Head Boy. That, and the obvious bit of testing James with authority. Testing him as a soldier. For the first time, Remus felt a subtle wave of revulsion for the man in front of him. 

“There’s no shame in it,” Albus said suddenly, and Remus nearly jumped. He gazed steadfastly at one of the headmaster’s many transfiguration devices. 

“Oh?” he said, pretending that he did not feel the sudden ice of Albus’ eyes on him and wondering if the headmaster had, indeed, been poking into his thoughts. An elemental distiller, that’s what the spangly one was for. Separating un-transfigurable objects into their transfigurable parts. 

“Letting it get to you,” said Albus. Remus stood, still avoiding looking at the headmaster. You think that’s why I’m angry? he wanted to yell, though he suspected that it was, in fact, the real reason he was upset.

“Thank you,” he said, tightly, giving nothing but struggling to hold on to just one emotion, any one emotion, for longer than five minutes. Albus sighed. 

“You are a good man, Remus Lupin,” he said gently, as though saying that would make Remus believe it. As if Remus was still that eleven-year-old boy who didn’t really believe he could be a wizard until Albus Dumbledore told him he was. Dumbledore may have still been that same, slightly ridiculous old man smiling sadly over his half-moon spectacles at Remus, but Remus was not that little boy anymore. He knew that Dumbledore made mistakes, that he put faith in the wrong people. You do not know me, Remus thought, angrily, you are a terrible judge of character.

“I do not pretend to know much of anything about love,” Albus was saying, unperturbed by Remus’ furious thoughts, “but I have spent my life trying to be as good and kind and brave as you do not know that you are. You are allowed to grieve and heal, Remus. You will be forgiven.” Remus felt like he was going to throw up. 

“Sir—“ he said tightly, beginning to stand. Albus fixed him with his knife-point eyes. 

“Remus John Lupin,” he said firmly, “sit back down.” Remus sat back heavily, burning with frustration. 

“This will not be the worst moment you will have as Harry Potter’s guardian,” said Albus calmly and Remus froze, his own upsets forgotten. Harry. 

“The war is not over,” Albus continued, “of this I am almost certain. I am equally convinced that Harry still has a role to play.” 

“What kind— but he’s“ Remus spluttered. 

“You remember the prophecy?” 

““The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,” Remus recited, dully. “Harry survived. Voldemort didn’t. It’s been nearly a decade.” 

“I do not think it is that simple,” said Albus gently, “in fact, I believe that there will come a time when Harry will have to face him again.” 

“Yes,” said Remus coldly, “I see that you already want to recruit James and Lily’s son for your war.” 

“On the contrary,” said Albus, “I want to ensure that nothing of the sort ever comes to play. But he needs watching— he needs protection. He needs to know that he will not be abandoned.” 

“I didn’t,” said Remus feebly, his stomach sinking. “I’m not—“ 

“Then go home, Remus,” said Albus. His face was completely inscrutable, and Remus’ guilt mounted. 

“Right,” he mumbled, “right yes. Sorry. Thank you.” 

“These are good times,” Albus said gently, as Remus gathered a small handful of floo powder from the fireplace. “Let us try to enjoy them.” 

“Yes sir,” said Remus without looking at the headmaster. He tossed the powder onto the flames and called “The Three Broomsticks!”

…………. 

The walk back from the apparition point was through the driving rain, which felt as good a penance as any. By the time he reached Number Four he was soaked through and freezing and hungry enough to eat a hippogriff. 

There was no way to knock on the tent flaps so Remus peaked in warily, guiltily. Harry was sat at the table in his pyjamas, eating a grilled cheese and kicking his legs back and forth. Sirius was getting a fire going, muttering and cursing into the flame.

“Hi,” said Remus softly. Sirius looked up sharply but stayed where he was. Harry ran to Remus immediately and paused a moment, hovering uncertainly in front of him. 

“Hey, pumpkin,” said Remus softly. Harry did not tell him that he was too old for the nickname; instead he wrapped his arms around Remus and hugged him tightly. 

“Shh, shh,” said Remus stroking Harry’s dark hair, “it’s all right. I just had to get the Nix somewhere safe. You did such a good job, my lovely boy. Such a good job fy mab.”

“C’mon, Snidget,” Sirius said stiffly, from where he was standing by the fire. Remus released Harry gently and nodded. 

“Time for bed, I think,” said Remus. “Would you like a song?” Harry shrugged. 

“Sure,” he said, which meant that he very much wanted a song even if nine was too old. Remus took his hand, feeling his eyes burn slightly. I will protect you, he thought as he kissed the top of Harry’s head, You will not go through this alone.

……….

Harry was fast asleep and snoring gently by the time Remus pulled himself away.

Sirius was either in their bedroom or outside; the only light came from the fireplace and the dinner dishes were left out. Remus felt a sting of irritation as he began clearing away the crusts of cheese toasties and dreggy cups of tea, but the moment they were in the sink and hot water was flowing into the basin he was relieved at the opportunity for— what? Penance? Procrastination? He scrubbed them by hand, the dishes and then the frying pan as well, scraping his short nails against the hardened blobs of melted cheese. 

Eventually there was nothing left to do; he had cleaned the kitchen and most of the main area, stoked the fire, and made two cups of tea by the time he accepted that he needed to get over himself and talk to Sirius. Balancing a mug in each hand, he peaked in through the flaps that led to their bedroom. 

“Hi,” he said, quietly, “I come bearing tea.” 

Padfoot raised his head from his paws and regarded Remus thoughtfully for a moment. Then he transformed into Sirius, nodded, and patted the bed beside him. 

“Hi,” he said. Remus handed him his tea— milky, and not as sweet as the one Remus made for himself— and sat beside him. He fiddled with the hem of his robes and Sirius reached a hand over towards him. Remus hesitated and then took it, kissed it, and looked up in Sirius’ general direction. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, unable to look directly at Sirius. “I shouldn’t have left.” 

“Yeah,” said Sirius, “and I shouldn’t have been an idiot.” 

Remus shook his head and stroked Sirius’ hand with his thumb. “It’s not that. I was, I felt. Dunno. Jealous. Guilty.” 

“Jealous?” asked Sirius. He had the audacity to sound cheeky. 

“Shut up,” said Remus irritably, “jealous that you got, that you were able,” he took a deep breath to steady himself. “This is awful of me.” 

“So spit it out,” said Sirius reasonably. Remus rolled his shoulders forward awkwardly. 

“I was jealous that you got to talk to James. Sort of. Jealous that I didn’t get to succumb and just see. James. And guilty. Like I didn’t want to. To see him enough. Like you.” 

“Oh,” said Sirius. 

“I’m sorry,” said Remus. He looked back down at Sirius’ hand, which he had at least not yanked away yet. 

“Why—“ began Sirius, and then he stopped. Remus looked back up at him and Sirius rolled his head from side to side, cracking it, looking uncomfortable and very tired. 

“I don’t think that anymore,” said Remus. It was true; his conversation with Dumbledore had wiped all of that away. “I promise never to leave like that again.” 

“I’ll be smarter next time,” said Sirius immediately, “I won’t put you in that position.” Remus looked at him a little suspiciously. 

“You’re being very mature about this,” he said. Sirius grinned. 

“Marital advice from McGoogles,” he replied easily. Remus blinked at him. 

“No!” 

“Yes,” said Sirius, “She floo’ed as soon as Harry and I got in.” Remus covered his face with his hands and started to laugh.

“Great sex-tips too,” Sirius said, thoughtfully. Remus started to laugh harder. 

“And,” gigged Sirius, “she even… haha… she even…” he began to laugh with Remus. 

“She even what,” he gasped. Sirius shook his head. 

“I don’t know I’m out of clever bullshit,” he said, “I was really fucking worried about you. Never pull that shit again.” 

“Never,” Remus promised, and he looked up into Sirius’ face and kissed him, hard. Sirius kissed him back, pulling Remus easily onto himself. 

“You’ll never believe what she taught me,” he whispered into Remus’ ear and Remus laughed and kissed him and kissed him again. 

……… 

“Oh fuck,” said Remus later, his chest heaving and his legs tangled up in Sirius’ “shit.” 

“Yeah,” agreed Sirius breathlessly, “that was…” 

“No no not that,” said Remus urgently, “Harry. I have to tell you about Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter before we swap to mostly harry's perspective!!!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND IT'S OVER!!! First book will start up some time next week :) CW for mentions of major character death, some implied sexual content, helicopter dads, and snivillus snappy

“Padfoot,” Harry hissed, as the massive black dog yelped wildly, licking every square inch of the protesting eleven year old he could reach, “Padfoot STOP IT.” 

“Give it up, Harry,” said Remus mildly, checking through Harry’s rucksack for the thousandth time that morning. “You’ve got your train chocolate, yes? And your school robes are in the top pocket of your trunk and…” 

“And the owl nuts are in the left pocket but don’t let Hedwig out until Hogwarts,” said Harry, exasperated, “and owl once a week at least for the first few weeks.” 

“And say hello to Quirinus for us,” Remus added. 

“That weedy little Ravenclaw?” asked Sirius sharply, changing back suddenly and eliciting a shriek from several witches on the platform. He winked at them, adjusting his lapels. “The one that fancied you in fifth year?” 

Harry groaned. “Padfoot he’s my PROFESSOR,” he complained, and Sirius clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“Give him hell for me, Snidget old man,” he said, and planted a kiss on Harry’s head. Harry squirmed away from him. 

“I’m going to be late,” he complained, but he let Sirius give him a crushing hug, and when Remus pulled him close and buried his face into his wild black hair, Harry didn’t push him away. 

“Remember me to the trolly witch,” said Sirius, slipping Harry a jingling pouch. Remus glared at him over Harry’s head and sighed. They would argue about pocket money later.

“Thanks,” said Harry brightly, carefully tucking it into his robes. He looked over his shoulder, evidently eager to get on the train. Sirius ruffled his hair, his eyes a bit watery.

“Don’t forget to write,” Remus said again, his voice cracking slightly. Harry nodded, looking somewhat nervous as he scanned the crowd of students getting on the train. 

“And remember the thing I told you about in Filch’s office,” said Sirius. Remus glared at him again. 

“And we love you,” said Remus. Sirius made an odd little gulping sound and began desperately humming Odo the Hero. 

“You’re so embarrassing,” said Harry, but he looked a bit unsure. Remus handed him back his rucksack.

“Go on, get,” he said, and Harry began pushing his trolly towards the train. They watched as he nearly collided with a red haired boy, and smiled as the two of them got on the train chatting shyly. They continued to watch, hand in hand, as a young blond boy who looked heartbreakingly like Alice Longbottom got onto the train clutching a toad followed a girl with an unreasonable amount of bushy hair chattering rapidly and clutching a large stack of books. Lucius Malfoy, slimy as ever, kissed his equally slimy son on the top of his head. Sirius pointedly avoided looking at Narcissa. 

“He’ll be fine,” said Remus, tightly. Sirius nodded. 

“What’s his name?” Remus asked, gesturing towards the Malfoys. Sirius’ lip curled. 

“Draco,” he said with a snort, “Named, I presume, after the constellation containing Alpha Draconis, the head of the serpent. Gits.” 

“Maybe we should ask Harry to keep an eye out for him,” said Remus thoughtfully. “Could be another black sheep.” 

Sirius glowered. “We can’t tell Harry who to be friends with,” he said, coldly. “Black sheep look out for themselves.” 

“Do they now?” Remus asked lightly, still waving towards the train. “I suppose you can look after yourself then, once we get back to the tent.” He heard Sirius’ breath catch. 

“I suppose there are some perks of sending Harry to Hogwarts,” Sirius murmured. They stayed until the train was out of sight before pushing the empty trolley back to King’s Cross. 

……………………………

“We don’t have to stay in Little Whinging during the year,” Remus said as they walked to the apparition point. Sirius grinned. 

“Completely agree,” said Sirius, “we can keep a MUCH better eye on him from the Shack. Brilliant.” Remus thumped him. 

“We aren’t going to spy on him, don’t be ridiculous,” he said. Sirius shrugged mulishly. 

“I don’t see why not,” he argued, “You remember what Dumbledore said! And he sent us to Diagon with Hagrid like some kind of body guard.” 

“He’s at _Hogwarts _,” Remus protested, “there’s nowhere safer!”__

____

____

“Except—“ started Sirius, but Remus glared him down. 

“Do NOT say Santorini,” he said sternly, “I told you for the last time that we are NOT homeschooling him from Santorini. Lily and James would want him at Hogwarts.” 

Sirius was anxiously tapping his fingers against his thigh and chewing the inside of his cheek. He had changed so much in ten years, Remus thought with a swell of affection. He was more careful, more patient. Of course he was worried about Harry— Remus was as well! But it wouldn't do to suffocate him “I was thinking we could go to Soho,” Remus pressed gently, “spend some time in London, be closer to the wizarding world?” 

“Bugger the Wizarding world,” Sirius said darkly. 

“Muggle London, then,” said Remus, wracking his brain for things that muggles with no children did in London. “We could, dunno. Go to a concert?” 

“We haven’t exactly been following the music scene,” Sirius reminded him, “Stones? Zeppelin? They’re still around, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” said Remus, who had been punched in the face at a Zeppelin concert by a complete stranger in 1976, “or um, something else.” 

“Should we pack up the tent?” Sirius asked, pulling a pack of gum from his pocket and passing a piece to Remus. Remus took it and regarded it a little sadly. He would have preferred a smoke, for old time’s sake. 

“I mean,” he said guiltily, “we probably should...” 

“It would be pretty rude,” agreed Sirius with a grin, “leaving it like that. What with the Dursleys being too afraid to go out in their back garden.” 

“Terrible.”

“Reprehensible.” 

“How could you even suggest such a thing?” 

With a wink, Sirius took Remus’ hand and they disapparated to the flat in Soho. 

........... 

Marvelling at the privacy and quiet, Remus stroked his slim fingers over Sirius’ chest. They were lying by the fire in a nest of blankets and pillows, some pilfered from around the flat and others transfigured from less-squashy objects. The effect was endearingly familiar— like the maurader’s dorm at Hogwarts nearly two decades ago. 

He wondered how Harry was doing; if he’d been sorted yet, if he’d found friends, if he was enjoying the hubbub as he knew James and Sirius had done or if he was as overwhelmed as Remus had been at his age. He wished he could send him a letter, but he knew that Harry wouldn’t get it until long after the feast, and he didn’t want to crows him. He hoped Harry would send them a note, but he also knew well how the excitement of Hogwarts drowned out everything else. He felt retroactive guilt for how little he’d written to his own father and resolved to write more. 

Yes, he’d tell Lyall which house Harry was in, just as soon as Harry told them. He knew that Sirius was sure it would be Gryffindor and he gave a silent, somewhat guilty prayer, that Harry would land in a quieter and all-around safer house. Hufflepuff was really underrated, he decided. Harry would do well in Hufflepuff. 

“Moony,” Sirius mumbled, blinking his eyes open and stretching long and luxurious beside him. Remus smiled at him softly. It didn’t matter how many times he had touched Sirius, how often he’d seen the soft concave of his stomach or the sharp hitch of adam’s apple; at least a little bit of him would never get over the fact that Sirius Black was his. 

“Hi,” said Remus, stroking along the edge of Sirius’ jaw, kissing him soft and deep. With an appreciative moan, Sirius tugged Remus closer and ran his hands down Remus’ back. 

They were interrupted by an irate tapping at the window. “Ignore it,” Sirius growled as Remus looked up sharply. 

“Hedwig,” he breathed. Sirius jumped up and strode to the window. Remus watched, holding his breath, as Sirius’ fingers fumbled with the note attached to her leg. Hedwig clucked impatiently and bent her head to nip at him. 

“Ah— bloody bird— okay, um, he says ‘Dear Remus and Sirius, I’M IN GRYFFINDOR,” 

Remus barely had time to react before he was tackled by a massive black dog. “Fuck,” he wheezed, trying to escape, “Sirius… geroff me…. yes….. VERY NICE SIRIUS GET OFF….” He shoved at Padfoot, who was doing his best to lick Remus’ eyeballs. “DISGUSTING,” he said severely, trying to get at the letter. Hedwig, who had been watching with extreme distaste, gave a condescending hoot and flew back out the window. 

Sirius, who had managed to cover them both in slobber and black hair, changed back into himself, still pinning Remus beneath him with his thighs. 

“UP! GRYFFINDOR!!!” he yelled, rearing his head back pounding on his chest. Remus pushed Sirius off and scrambled over to the fallen letter which was now covered in dog slobber. 

“Ugh,” he said with as much disdain as he could muster completely naked and covered in black dog hair. 

“Of course he’s in Gryffindor,” Sirius was saying, still grinning like a mad man, “I mean, c’mon, genes like those? Godfathers such as ourselves? He’s the best!” 

“Mmm,” said Remus, reading the rest of the note. Harry did his g’s just like Lily’s, and his tone was all James. His chest ached to imagine him in the Gryffindor common room, laughing and chatting and making it his home. He wished he could be there to see it. 

“Go on,” said Sirius, somewhat calmer. He was pulling on his boxers and tossed Remus’ over as well. Remus passed him the note and began to dress as Sirius read aloud. 

“….the feast was GREAT I had everything except the peppermint humbugs and Ron (my new friend, he’s in Gryffindor too we met on the train and he’s got a BAT can you believe it) ate EVERYTHING also thanks loads for the train money we got EVERYTHING on the trolly how come you’ve never gotten me Wizard sweets? Anyway there’s me and Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan and a boy named Neville Longbottom who keeps losing his toad. I’m knackered.” Remus looked up at Sirius, smiling gently. “Love, Harry.” 

“Great kid,” Sirius said, his voice strangled and low. Remus hugged him tightly. 

“He’ll be okay,” he said soothingly, rubbing his hand across Sirius’ shoulders. Sirius gave a tight laugh. 

“He’ll be great,” he said, “shit. We did good, eh?” 

“Yes,” said Remus. He released Sirius and smoothed the letter between his fingers. “I should write my Dad.” 

“Yes,” Sirius replied, wiping his nose on his wrist. Remus shuddered. 

“After I shower,” he amended and Sirius, laughing, tackled him to the floor again and kissed him on the nose. 

………… 

Minerva McGonagall was having a much more difficult start to the year than she had anticipated. 

Wizards had their children young and lived long lives in small communities; Merlin only knew how many generations she had taught at Hogwarts. She was used to a familiar face cropping up every twenty years or so, used to the long lines of siblings and cousins and sons and daughters who mixed into and indistinguishable line of red-headed Weasleys and sleek little Malfoys. Harry Potter looked exactly like James, of course, but she knew him and was expecting that. It was with only a slight pang that she watched as him walk, wide-eyed, into the castle that evening.

But Neville Longbottom. There was a sight to make a toad stop singing. 

Minerva poured herself a whiskey; she wasn’t on duty tonight, which she suspected had been Pomona’s doing— if the gillyweed she had found spellotaped to the underside of her desk was any indication. Professor Sprout had never met a wound a plant couldn’t fix. 

Not that she would touch the stuff tonight. A stiff drink would do, a sleeping draught if necessary. She’d be teaching tomorrow, after all. Teaching a class full of new familiar faces; the latest Weasley, Aofie McNamara's boy Seamus, little Harry Potter, the Patil girl. And Neville Longbottom. 

Unlike Harry, whose resemblance to his father bordered on staggering, Neville didn’t particularly look exactly like Frank or exactly like Alice. He bore no visibly marks of tragedy and, though he had already established an unfortunate reputation for being forgetful, he didn’t seem particularly ill-adjusted. He was nervous, sure, nearly a hatstall, but she had been a hatstall herself and privately thought it the mark of an interesting character. No, there was something else about him. Frustrating. Worrying. She felt a touch guilty that she had privately hoped he wouldn’t be placed in Gryffindor. 

There was a loud rapping at her door. Minerva had barely a second to stand and pull her tartan robe more tightly around herself by the time Severus Snape swept in, glowering. 

“Severus,” she said tightly, pursing her lips with displeasure. Severus walked to her desk and effortlessly conjured a glass, pouring himself a finger of whiskey. 

“Minerva,” he muttered, raising it to her. She glared at him reprovingly, but picked up her own glass nevertheless. 

“I presume we are toasting to the start of a new school year?” she asked crisply, returning to her seat. Severus very nearly snarled. 

“To the end of an era,” he said nastily. Minerva sighed. “I suppose he’d have to come here eventually. I had hoped he'd turn squib. The famous _Harry Potter _.”__

____

____

So that was it. Minerva rubbed her temples. “Are you planning on continuing your absurd little rivalry with a _child _, Severus?”__

____

____

“I just mean he seems unpleasant,” Severus snapped. “You should have seen how he looked at me at the feast. Did you tell him about me?” 

“No,” said Minerva, wondering how badly it would start off the year if the head of Gryffindor hexed the head of Slytherin on the first night. “No I didn’t tell him about you, thank you very much. Are you finished with your drink?” She vanished it pointedly. 

“Black did, I’m sure of it,” Severus continued, oblivious. Minerva longed, as she had several times over the past decade, to give him detention. “Bastard. Still a braggart and a bully I’m sure, even if he is just a washed up prodigal heir.” 

“Sirius Black has been running a very successful dark-creature repatriation effort actually,” said Minerva, who felt just a little bit mean. Severus flushed rewardingly. 

“And his mutt…..” 

“Severus, really.” 

“Yes yes of course, I forgot, your favourite students,” Severus said, glowering. Minerva sighed. They had become friends, almost, over the years. He was clever, an excellent potions master, and surprisingly funny when his guard was down. But his guard was up tonight, and Minerva was not in the mood.

“Severus, and I say this with the utmost respect, get out of my rooms before I am forced to hex you.” 

“Miner—“ 

“I really must insist,” she interrupted. He shrugged, affecting a thin front of indifference. 

“As you wish. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” she said firmly. He swept out and, with a flick of her wand, she locked the door. 

It wasn’t until after he had gone that she realised what had been bothering her about Neville Longbottom. The registry. His birthday. Thirty-first July, same as Harry Potter’s. 

What had the prophecy said? Born at the end of the seventh month to parents who had thrice escaped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It referred to the Potters, Albus had told her all those years ago. Lily and James were to go into hiding with little Harry; there had been a prophecy, a death eater who had overheard. There was so much going on that she hadn’t questioned it once. Albus said it was them, so it was them.

But Minerva had been Albus’ second-in-command, his deputy in the Order, and she had kept records of all past operations. Plenty of their operatives had run-ins with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; Sirius Black, the Prewett twins, even Alice and Frank must have fought him at least twice, possibly, no definitely, three times. Thrice defied. Seventh month dies. Minerva sat down on her bed hard, hands trembling. 

Harry Potter was, of course, the Chosen One. But only because He-Who-Must-Be-Named— because _Dumbledore _— had decided he was.__

____

____

So what was Neville Longbottom? One of two orphan boys of prophecy, both in her charge for the next seven years.

Maybe she would try some of that gillyweed after all. 

……. 

High in his office, overlooking the forbidden forest and the quidditch pitch, Albus Dumbledore bid farewell to Nicholas and Peranelle Flamel and extinguished the green flames in his fireplace with a windless wave of his hand. Fawkes cooed at him from his perch beside the desk, looking older and brittler than even the 700 year-old alchemist. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting on?” Albus asked the bird, teasing. Fawkes snorted. “I swear,” said Albus mock-severely, “you wait for the most dramatic moments to regenerate. There’s only enough room for one old queen in this office thank you very much.” Fawkes sneezed purposefully onto Albus’s desk. 

“Really, my dear,” Albus continued, going to the pensive and pulling a long strand of memory from his temple, “you’ll need your strength soon, if tonight has been any indication. Quite a lot of tensions in this years group. The history itself is staggering. I have a feeling,” he cast the strand into the pensive and paused a moment as the wispy images of Nico sank beneath the shimmering liquid, “that these years of respite are at an end.” 

Fawkes shrugged and sneezed again. Albus Dumbledore closed the case and folded the cabinet back into the corner of his office. A battered old hat, newly returned to its place on a shelf by the desk, took note of this cryptic warning. Finally, something interesting to sing about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gd it dumbledore


End file.
